


As the Seasons Turn

by idinathoreau



Series: Council Era [2]
Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fire Powers, Frozen mythos, Ice Powers, Lesbian Elsa (Disney), Magic, Original Mythology, Post-Frozen (2013), Sequel, Worldbuilding, where Elsa's ice powers come from
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2019-11-14 04:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 82,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18045698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idinathoreau/pseuds/idinathoreau
Summary: Elsa, Anna and their new family have settled into life in Arendelle after the events of the Council of the Four Seasons. But now that Theonia is returning to fulfill her new role in their lives, things may get complicated, particularly for the Snow Queen. As a new era of magic and goddesses looms on the horizon, what changes are coming to the world?





	1. Prologue: Ileana's Dark Prophecy

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is at last! After several years and one NaNoWriMo dedicated to this story, I've finally got enough to start publishing this sequel! Plus the Frozen 2 trailer lit a fire under my ass. My hope is to have most of this finished before Nov 27th, 2019 so that way once I'm crying over the movie, most of this will be done and I wont be tempted to change anything.
> 
> I'm going to try to be fairly regular with updates but I make no promises. Please be patient with me.

**PROLOGUE: ILEANA'S DARK PROPHECY**

_In the final days of her life, Ileana grew more and more agitated. As her vision began to fade, her Sight grew ever stronger, much as Isen’s had in the world they had left behind. There was no solace in sleep, for her dreams only grew to haunt her as nightmares. With her lover harried and driven mad by the endless stories and legends Branna was making her record, and with Ava and Kaya traveling so often, she had none to voice her anguish to. All of them were anxious, all of them feared the next stage, whatever it may be. Branna was certain all her knowledge of the stories from their home realm would be lost, just as Isen was sure her Sight would fade with Ileana’s life. But where Branna could hope to preserve her knowledge by making Erin fill every book in their library, Isen had no such outlet._

_Ileana would sit for hours in a tiny room in the most secluded wing of the temple, her ice expanding and contracting endlessly as she fought the onslaught of visions tormenting her, her blind eyes staring at nothing. She had nothing to safeguard her power, she never had. In the past, she would have gone to Erin without hesitation, begging her to ease her visions by recording them for future meditations._

_But the things she saw now, she could not bear to let her love know of. Her visions were of the End of Days, of their Mother crying out in pain and their people suffering in their absence. She saw the Great Tree die again and again, as if an entire forest had been cut by her sister’s sword. She saw the dust from the Great Tree as if it were a plague, eating away at the realm they had landed in, and Verdener glowing maliciously from its hidden lair. She saw the missing Shard of Evigsmerte spinning endlessly, its power untethered and loose upon the world. And at the end of it all, there was always one thing. Great Darkness. And her soul would cry out, yearning to join that Darkness, to give herself over to its great power and vanish within its embrace…_

_She could not let such a blasphemous thought be known to her sisters._

_But on some nights, when the visions became too much to bear, she would stumble to the library, grope in the darkness for whatever book Erin had left out from her days of furious scribbling and blindly scrawl her thoughts across the page…_

_And in one such book, detailing the lost legend of how the spirits fell to Earth, she wrote her Dark Prophecy._

  
_**From the writings of Sophie, the great Fire Goddess incarnate,  
Kingdom of Arendelle, Mid-Winter, 1821** _  


***

**_Province of Weselton, Winter, 1813_ **

He’d always hated winter.

Snow crunched under his boots as he crossed the divide between hemlock forest and pine woods that most would not have distinguished. The tough old spikes in his boots gripped the snow mercilessly, cutting into the thin layer of ice above the powder, leaving cracked footprints behind him. The landscape rose gently under his feet, sloping into a gradual incline that made him lean forwards slightly as he walked. The crossbow slung across his back and the twin short swords at his waist thumped out counter melodies to his footsteps as he climbed, the wood of his bolts creaking off key.

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled, calling his brothers to the hunt. He acknowledged the sound and shifted his course slightly to the east, aiming to now trek around the valley rather than through it. The wolves were hunting. But they would not be hunting him.

His Sami clothes held back the cold effortlessly; his moist breath filled the scarf across his face and warmed the air before he breathed it. Snow caked into the folds of the leather and ice dripped from the front of his scarf. He’d been walking non-stop for days, pausing only for a few sips from open streams to quench his thirst. He’d not slept or eaten at all during that time. His job was too important for such trivial things.

The parcel tapping his thigh with every step pulsed with a heartbeat of its own, racing his so that he felt as if he were being hunted; chased and teased by some devil just over his shoulder. But he would not let himself succumb to that superstition. He had been chosen for this mission specifically because of his abilities to keep a level head and not panic.

He held no more fear towards the blade of his enemy, the supernatural forces, or his funeral pyre than he did the leaf fluttering mutely to the snow before him. If death came for him now, so be it. He was at peace with his gods.

A furry form burst through the brush ahead. It was a handsome, low-running lone wolf, split off from the pack to search out possible prey. Before it even registered his presence among the trees, he had his crossbow loaded and at his shoulder.

The hunter skidded to a halt, panting on the ice, his deep green eyes burning into the human’s.

The human lifted his bow, his heart steady. It was kill or be killed out here. As the wolf drew breath to summon his pack, the human fired. The bolt tore straight through the beast’s throat and embedded itself in the tree beyond. The silenced hunter collapsed on the snow, bleeding profusely and whining silently. The human crossed to him and placed a gentle hand on the beast’s head. He waited with the hunter until the light dimmed from his eyes, the green fire fading into the air around him and passing on. He gently closed the wolf’s eyes and continued on his way, plucking the bolt from the tree as he passed.

In his employers’ circles, he was known only as the Mercenary.

The next few hours of his journey were uneventful and he soon found himself gazing upon the walled city of Benton, the capitol of the Weselton Province and home of his most recent employer. The gates were closed for the night; but he had never entered the city through a gate.

Loading the same bolt that had killed the wolf, he took aim and fired, watching as the rope tied to his shot whipped in the air behind it. The bolt struck less than a foot below the crest of the wall, the rope dangling two feet above the ground.

He swiftly climbed the wall and dropped onto the parapet, pulling his bolt from the stone and winding the rope around a guard post to assist his drop onto the nearby roofs. The thatch and tiles under his feet were icier than the forest floor but it was no challenge for him. He darted through the city like a shadow, climbing higher as the rooftops rose until the palace came into view. Another perfect shot and rope climb later, he was at his employer’s window.

He offered only three short taps before he slid one of his finest blades between the windows, tripping the latch and allowing the window to swing open.

He dropped silently to the floor and rose with his head bowed. Warmth slowly seeped into him from a fire burning across the chamber.

His employer glanced up from a large chair by the fire. “Ah, my Mercenary has returned.” The small man rose, hurrying to stand before the man. He placed his small, warm hands on the younger man’s head. “Excellent, my boy. How did the journey agree with you?”

The Mercenary raised his head and offered his employer the smallest of smiles. “Most well, my Lord.” He was a man of few words but the Duke seemed to love him all the more for it.

The Duke’s eyes gleamed in the firelight, clearly picking up on his employees’ triumphant air. “Were you successful?” He whispered, the corners of his moustache twitching, his warm hands trembling against his face. The cold air coming in the window was fogging up the oversized glasses the little man wore.

The Mercenary reached behind him and carefully untied the parcel from its resting place. He presented it to the Duke with his head bowed low. “I have found it, my Lord.”

He could hear the Duke breathing fast and shallow, overjoyed and just a little frightened of what he was being offered. “Excellent work…”

The Mercenary did not reply. He had only followed orders. Nothing less was to be expected.

The Duke softly plucked the parcel from his Mercenary’s hands, hurriedly placing it on a side table next to the fire. The little man turned back to his employee, rubbing his hands as if to remove something unpleasant from them.

“And your master? He has agreed to our terms?”

The Mercenary blinked but allowed no shift in his emotion to show on his face. “My master will do his part. But he wishes to make it clear that he does not follow your orders.”

The Duke sniffed in disapproval but he did not voice his disdain for the Mercenary’s Master.

“Very well. How long until you can go out again?”

He could have left immediately if he really wanted to. “I can leave at dawn, my lord.”

The Duke nodded his approval. “Good…good.” He turned to the wall, where an enormous map detailed countries and trade routes. Many of the routes had been violently erased and the names of countries scratched away until the wall behind showed. The Duke lowered his voice, a darkness seeping into his generally bouncy demeanor. “After all this time, we will finally have our revenge on Arendelle…and Queen Elsa will fall…”

The Mercenary was still but he watched his employer through narrowed eyes, his shadow wavering in the light.

Fingers shaking, the Duke reached for the edges of the package. He unwrapped the parcel carefully to reveal a single metallic shard that shimmered wickedly in the flickering firelight.

“The Winter is coming to an end…and Summer shall reign once more.”

***

Far away, in a temple hidden so deep in the mountains that no human had ever laid eyes on it, a young woman was preparing to end her life.

The instant before she plunged the blade into her heart, she heard a soft voice call her name.

As they always had, the seasons continued to turn amidst life, death, darkness, and change.


	2. Autumn's Changes Part 1

**CHAPTER 1: AUTUMN'S CHANGES**  
_Part 1_

_They were twelve when it happened first._

_Bartholomew was always warning them not to over-exert themselves when using their powers. With their bodies weakened, the spirits could take control. At any moment, if they were weak enough, a spirit would surge forward in their consciousness and they would lose control over their form._

_If Bartholomew was not nearby to administer the Mother’s Sacred Binding Spell, the spirits threatened to lose their host in their all-consuming rage or sorrow at their banishment to this world._

_Ileana nearly died in such a case._

_It had been after a fight with both Erin and Kaya. Something frivolous that none of the Spirits had found the need to listen too or intervene in. But as Summer and Autumn fought Winter, it was only natural that the unmatched two-on-one fight tire out the host of winter completely. Filled with anger and sadness, Ileana blacked out, her consciousness slipping away deep inside of her to the recesses where the snows of Winter fell constantly in her mind._

_And Isen surged forward, her own form unused to being so dormant, to not moving and Singing through her own body. She came fully into Ileana’s form, her ice coating the fair skin and her light pouring from the child’s blue eyes. But as she opened her mouth to Sing freely, all that escaped her was her winter air. And the horrific sound of Ileana screaming._

_The child was crying out in pain and disorientation, unable to stop her own body from moving, from being filled so completely with such terrible power. The spirit had shoved her out, forcing her consciousness into the very smallest corner at the back of their shared mind. There she sat in a tiny, freezing cell, her pain the same as that of the cast-out spirit’s. But hers was a human form, unable to carry such torment._

_Isen was unable to stop. She could not retreat with her power spilling out so uncontrollably. Her selfish admittance of the Darkness upon Ileana’s weakness had set off this cataclysmic spiral. Snow filled the room, icy gales whipped her sisters away from her. Even Erin could not reach her, Branna’s thawing flames nowhere near powerful enough to combat a storm like this._

_All seemed lost._

_But just as Ileana was turning completely to ice, Bartholomew was upon them, summoned by the internal sense that resonated within him even from halfway across the Temple as his girls screamed._

_He faced the Sorrow of Winter with nothing but his Gauntlets and fought his way towards Ileana’s form. With two quick jabs, he administered the Binding Spell. Isen fell into unconsciousness and Ileana came forward again. The Darkness rushed out. She lived._

_But it was too late. Ileana was already beginning to lose herself. After that day, her sight slowly faded until she became as blind as Isen did before she left the Mother’s Realm. Erin never left her side after that, vowing to always be her guiding light in the growing darkness._

_The spirits, hosts, and their Guardian were all more careful after that, but even Bartholomew the Unconquerable could not always protect the goddesses from the temptation of a human form._

_Similar instances occurred with both Kaya and Ava not long after, with both Livet and Død succumbing to the dark desire of having their own flesh once more and causing their hosts terrible distress. Only Branna remained strong enough to not take control of her host. Perhaps because she had fought the Darkness before in the time of the Great War to Restore the Light Goddess. She knew the power and the sorrow of giving in. She resisted the temptation of having her own flesh again._

_After Bartholomew gave his life rescuing Kaya from Død, the spirits vowed never again to control a host without mutual permission. These young humans had given their forms, their lives so that they might exist in this world. Should they not treat them with respect and honor for that? All four of them made a pact, sealed in the first meeting of the Council and made into the 2nd Decree by the Mother Herself: Above all else, the host is to be honored._

_What the great spirits did not know was that their actions that day set in motion a chain of events that would alter the legends._

  
**From the writings of Sophie, the great Fire Goddess incarnate, Kingdom of Arendelle, Mid-Winter, 1821**

***

 

_**Arendelle Capitol 1814 (7 months since the Battle of the Seasons)** _

The sea air was unsettlingly fresh.

Brasov wandered through the marketplace, marveling at the openness such a notoriously secluded kingdom displayed within its own borders. The merchants all called out friendly greetings to shoppers, engaging in polite conversations with their clientele as they traded and bartered goods from across the kingdom. Smoked fish from the Arendelle waters reeked along the ripe juiciness of freshly picked berries from the highlands. Elaborate wooden carvings gleamed next to imported silks from the Far East.  
He pulled his cloak tighter about him as a merchant hawking the silks tried to call out to him. A crisp autumn chill was beginning to settle across the fjord on this late summer’s day. Idly, Brasov wondered if the queen was the source of it, or if this one was nature’s doing.

_I wonder if her subjects think the same…during long, hard winters, will they turn against her?_

He plucked a berry from the top of another merchant’s display and popped it into his mouth. The tart juices darkened his tongue as he ate it. All around him was noise, aimless chatter about frivolous things. People unsettled him, especially in such large open areas like this. But he’d never let that show. Not here.

Brasov crossed the square to reach the center of the marketplace, where an enormous statue of pure ice gleamed defiantly in the warm summer sun. The subject was an enormous dragon, wings folded and jaws opened in what could be mistaken for a gentle smile. It was exquisitely carved, nearly lifelike in its fine detail and texture. As if it were about to spring to life and devour them all.

_A reminder of her strength…even here._

Several small children were gathered around the base, apparently seeing which of them were brave enough to attempt to lick the statue. Thus far none had stepped forward. They were in awe of the creation, that much was certain.

Brasov admired the sculpture awhile longer, his eyes roaming over the fine scales and shapely muscles. He’d give the Queen this much, she clearly had the eye of an artist.

A figure across the marketplace caught his eye, moving just a bit too formally compared to the everyday marketplace rabble. Even from this far away, Brasov recognized the unmistakable nuances of a spy.

A spy he knew. His gaze darkened as he took in the reddish hair, the hooked nose. _What is he doing here?_

He stepped casually behind the statue as the man’s eyes scanned the square, clearly looking for something. Looking for him probably. Too bad he’d spotted him first.

_That fool…_

Brasov ducked around the statue, circling the square so as to approach the infiltrator from behind. It would be quick and unnoticeable. It would hardly be his first time taking someone out in the middle of a crowd.

He positioned himself at the entrance to a dim alleyway just off the main square, the spy a mere ten feet in front of him, inspecting a merchant’s wares and making a horrible, half-hearted attempt at haggling a price down. Brasov felt for his knife and crouched lower. He had to wait for just the right moment…

The spy gave up, dropping the basket carelessly on the merchant’s table and turning to walk away. Brasov’s muscles tensed, readying for the strike.

But the moment before he could pounce on his unsuspecting target, a panicked shout rang out across the square, quickly spreading and growing until most of the marketplace shifted from a carefree hub to a murderous focal point.

Since he himself was not the source of it, Brasov’s concentration broke and he stood up to try to view the one who was so despised by everyone here.

An older woman was pointing at someone in the middle of the square, standing next to the dragon statue. The old woman’s wispy hair had fluttered out from under a bonnet and an array of fresh breads were scattered about her feet. She was shouting loudly and frantically. “Guards! Guards!! It’s the witch! The fire-witch is back!” The figure at the statue turned, one hand falling away from the finely-crafted scales. As her face was revealed, the entire crowd seemed to harden instantly.

With the atmosphere shifting so abruptly, Brasov lost interest in his target. Instead, he slipped back amongst the crowd, joining the murderous chant as he slithered closer to where the mob was thickening. Where a young woman in a dark cloak stared into the face of those calling for her blood without even blinking.

He glanced up and spotted a strange sight. A raven circled over the crowd, spiraling higher and higher before finally taking off towards the palace.

As for him, he melted into the crowd and watched.

***

Walking through her memories had gotten easier.

Elsa stared at the gleaming surface of Isen’s mirror, centuries of memories stretching out beyond her inside of it. She saw hours of training sessions, four different hosts freezing their first drop of water, eight different host deaths, five different battles with summer’s host whenever their anger got the better of them…

Outside of her meditative state, she felt her fist clench and hoary frost coat her shoulders and cheekbones. She didn’t need reminders. She was looking for one thing in particular…

There.

The onslaught of memories slowed and she pushed the others back to bring her targeted memory to the mirror’s surface. Her concentration rippled then sharpened considerably, drawing the memory into focus. It was an event from long ago, when one of Branna’s hosts (Belle), had tried to force Branna to leave her. Belle had never been well-suited to being a host and her desperation had once driven her to attempt a split with Branna. It had not gone well. Her own host, Eirwen, had had to cool Belle’s skin with ice as the temporary absence of the fire spirit from her had left her body badly burned and her mind feverous. Branna had snapped right back into Belle’s skin, but the beautiful Belle had been horribly disfigured for the rest of her life. It had pained them all greatly to see such a beautiful host harmed so by a fact they could not change. Giving up a human form voluntarily, as easy as it was, meant certain death for their host.

Elsa let out a long breath and released the memory back within the swell of experiences. It was exactly as she feared. The host could not survive a spirit leaving.

Isen retreated from the ice palace within her mind, closing the door on the endless vortex of memories she sought to bring order to. Elsa slowly returned to consciousness from her meditative state, leaving the overwhelming number of memories inside of the structure she had built for them.

She opened her eyes to blackness. Elsa blinked hard and slowly, her vision began to return. _Odd…that’s never happened before…maybe I was Seeing too long?_

A glance outside told her that she’d barely been searching her mind for half an hour. Hardly a long-stretch for her. She blinked the last of the dark spots from her vision and twisted slightly from side to side, stretching out her neck and back from her meditation.

_A human form is so…difficult. Why would the Mother choose this realm for us? Perhaps it was the closest She could find? Maybe She likes humans?_

Elsa chuckled softly. She still could not get used to this duel mentality of thinking: one way as the young woman she knew she was and the other as an immortal goddess who was still sorting out her memories and identity.

Sometimes it still kept her up at night, wondering how she could balance this revelation with the life she knew. She needed time, she supposed. Time to adjust to this truth and learn how to handle everything it brought. But she often wondered how much time she would have like this. Immortal spirit in a mortal body. Could she even die?

It was too early for such morbid thoughts. The sunlight streaming in the window glinted off of the object of her meditation and Elsa stared intently at the tiny glass ball sitting on the floor in front of her. It was a perfect thing, smooth and round, shimmering in the afternoon sunlight streaming in the window, beams of red and blue warping across its surface.

It had consumed her full attention for days.

_Perhaps she only left it here the first time she came…or after…_ she felt her cheeks heat up as memories of Theo’s second visit came to mind. The lingering, steamy kiss…

Elsa shook her head, snorting angrily under her breath. This wasn’t helping. After two days of trial and error, she’d only driven herself mad thinking of possible scenarios where this glass ball meant there was some remote possibility that the former host of summer was still alive. Her memories had been little help, such a scenario had never been witnessed by her before. Of all her sister spirits, Branna had always been the one most content to follow the Mother’s Doctrine. Her memories proved just how many times she had relied on her former lover to bring her back to that path.

Branna had never voluntarily left a host until the Battle. There was no clue as to what the consequences would have been.

_But even if Branna somehow re-entered her, which she_ definitely _didn’t…how could she possibly have crawled out of Arendelle as sick and weak as Belle was after her attempt?_

But Theo was nowhere near as young as Belle had been at the time. She was also incorrigibly stubborn and insufferably resilient. In the back of her mind, she knew the most likely scenario was that Theo had simply burst into flame upon losing Branna and had drifted through the air as ashes while she had assumed her true form.

Elsa shuddered. She didn’t want to even consider that.

A small part of her wanted to put this away, to stop searching so desperately in case her efforts proved futile. But Elsa knew that part was easily silenced by the yearning curiosity of her ancient soul. The glass ball was cool and smooth as she picked it up. Her fingers traced the object obsessively, as if a clue hid in the breath that had blown this glass. Theo’s breath. Elsa pressed her forehead to the ball, closing her eyes. The cool glass on her skin felt like the hint of a lost memory. She had never wanted to accept the death. But perhaps that was the only way to move on?

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of the doors to the throne room slamming open. Reba raced inside, panting, her brand-new black tunic that Anna had insisted the foreign girl take wrinkled and askew from her exertions.

Elsa stood quickly. “Reba? What is it?” She’d never known the young spy to run, even for play. Reba was an intensely serious child and maintained a placid calm at all times that even Elsa was in awe of. The red-haired child steadied herself, bowing quickly before looking Elsa in the eye.

“We have a bit of a situation, Queen Elsa…” Reba said, still catching her breath.

“What?”

The girl bit her lip, contemplating her words. “Well…she’s back.”

Elsa stiffened. “Who?” She asked, even though every part of her being already knew the only person Reba would inform her of so uncharacteristically. The glass ball in her hands creaked as she squeezed it tightly.

“Theonia.”

***

Her footsteps were icing over but she had no time to spare. Elsa stalked through the corridors towards the front door, her pace never slowing as her thoughts raced through her mind. Theo was here, Theo was alive after all, she was among a crowd of citizens who blamed her for everything going wrong…

The little glass ball in her hand had turned a swirling red color as Elsa gripped it so tightly she was surprised it wasn’t breaking. Expanding the sleeves of her ice gown, she stored the glass ball in the customary spot she’d taken to carrying it in: a hidden pocket inside the billowing sleeve of her left arm.

“Queen Elsa?” Elsa’s head snapped up, finding Gerda following her carefully but quickly, her dumpy form trotting delicately on her newly-formed icy trail.

The Queen slowed, but only fractionally, her heart racing under her calm exterior. “I have to go down to the square.” She told the old nursemaid and castle caretaker. “There is something I must see to immediately.”

Gerda nodded in understanding as they crossed into the atrium, passing the bottom of the grand staircase. “Shall I inform Princess Anna?”

“Inform me of what?”

Elsa stopped dead, Gerda only managing to avoid ramming into her by sliding left on the ice and waving her arms for balance.

Anna’s head poked over the balcony one flight up the stairs, just outside the door to the nursery.

Something clenched in Elsa’s stomach and she tried not to grimace.

“Elsa?” Anna asked her, peering at her. “What’s wrong?” Elsa sighed. She never could hope to fool her sister.

“There’s some civil unrest down by the square.” Elsa replied, hating herself for the half-truth she was telling. But she couldn’t lie to her sister again.

“Oh no, again?” Anna sighed, leaning on the banister. Her hair was up in a tight bun on the back of her head, safe from small grabby fingers. “What is it this time?”

“People are getting restless.” Elsa replied, taking a moment to will the ice trail behind her out of existence. Only half of it obeyed. “Perhaps someone raised the price of grain again.”

Anna squinted at her suspiciously but thankfully, showed no interest in the apparent dispute. “Going to go send some ice in to cool them off?” She quipped tiredly, laying her top half completely on the railing.

Elsa smiled tightly. “Hopefully not.” Anna knew how much she worried about the people getting proper resources for affordable prices. Market disputes had been common since the Battle and Elsa and her guards had often needed to step in to alleviate or dispel tensions.

Her sister waved her off, turning back towards the nursery when the howls of her two-day-old daughter could be heard loud and clear. Elsa winced as the deepest emotion she could fathom pulled at the bottom of her heart, urging her towards the sound. Sophie had inherited her mother’s lungs but thankfully, not her father’s indignation. She rarely cried but when she did, it was painful to all.

Wrestling herself away from the need to rush up the stairs, Elsa turned away and found Gerda waiting respectfully at her elbow, one arched eyebrow the only indication that she knew something else was going on. Elsa continued on her way, the faithful nursemaid following.

They crossed silently out of the atrium and into the entrance halls. “Gerda, keep Anna away from the square for the next hour.” Elsa instructed the older woman in a low voice. “She is not to be outside the castle gates.”

The nursemaid bowed reverently and for once, did not question Elsa’s order. “Yes, my queen.” She hurried off the way they’d just come.

Elsa continued on her way, trying her hardest to keep the floor clear. She didn’t notice the ice climbing every window in her path.

Reba met her in the courtyard, having exited the palace through one of her seemingly innumerable escape routes. She seemed uncomfortable moving around the castle among the staff.

“Any developments?” Elsa asked her as they moved down the steps and stalked across the sparsely populated courtyard.

Reba glanced up as a shadow passed over them. Agog, the girl’s loyal raven was circling overhead in lazy clock-wise spirals. “No blood yet…” Reba commented drily.

Elsa only doubled her pace, leaving the little spy to jog after her.

They left the palace and made their way down the tight streets towards the growing sound of unrest from the marketplace. Even with the urgency of the situation, Elsa couldn’t help but wince at the fact that more than half of the buildings they were passing were still made from ice and not wood or stone. The scars were still so deep, would she be able to save Theo?

Reba placed a gentle hand on her wrist but whether it was meant to be reassuring or merely a directional tug, Elsa could not tell. They slipped between two ice buildings and emerged at the royal platform raised slightly above the marketplace. Elsa had given many speeches from here and supervised several events at the market in the past few months. But instead of the usual muted respect awaiting her, now there was an air of anger and chaos swirling around the square.

Captain Wulfric of the Arendelle Guards was waiting for them on the platform. As they climbed the few stairs, Elsa did a quick scan of the square and noticed several guards strategically positioned around the edges of a rapidly shifting crowd surrounding her ice dragon statue.

“Your Majesty,” Wulfric bowed as he noticed them, seeming unsurprised that they had arrived so quickly. He had come to generally ignore the presence of Reba at the Queen’s side. Reba was quite good at making herself invisible when she chose. “The witch has returned.” Wulfric informed them as they all stepped up to the railing of the platform. “The crowd has doubled in size since her arrival and we fear they may become violent if the trespasser is not apprehended…”

“Where is she?” Elsa demanded, frantically scanning the crowd. There were too many people to pick anyone out. None had seemed to notice her arrival as they were too focused on their target to pay her any attention.

The three of them scanned the mob silently for several seconds, Elsa’s pulse climbing as the shouts grew louder with each passing moment and the crowd swelled with new perpetrators of violence.

“There.” Reba finally said, pointing.

The mob was thickest towards the enormous ice dragon sculpture that Elsa had created during the first market ceremony. The crowd was circling a figure that was moving rapidly, ducking under outstretched arms and blocking attempts made to grab them. No matter how many people came forward, the figure seemed to easily ward them off, slipping through grasping fingers and past shoulders like water.

“Kill her!” Someone cried and many others took up the call. “Burn the witch!”

Elsa even spotted a few of her own guards forsaking their posts to join the mob. Theo’s attack had not been easily forgotten by the Arendelle Guards. But it was the people lighting torches that concerned her the most.

She caught a glimpse of the darting cloaked figure, a head of raven-black hair whipping to follow every bodily motion. A hand closed upon the hair, yanking the figure so hard they stumbled. The crowd swelled.

“ENOUGH!” Elsa cried out, her amplified voice shaking the market stands as she let the tiniest bit of her true voice bleed through. The mob stilled, turning nearly as one to see their queen. One pair of eyes was quicker than the rest, finding Queen Elsa’s icy blue eyes even before she’d finished speaking. Over the heads of the dozens of townspeople crying for blood, the eyes of Isen locked with those of Theonia.

A familiar, potent rush of lightning crashed through Elsa along with a realization: _my Guardian has come…_ she froze in place, stilled by the presence of the one who must protect her.

Time came to a standstill. Nothing existed but them. The distance between them seemed all at once nothing and worlds apart. Even with her muscles and powers locked in complete paralysis, calm such as Elsa had not ever known in her life surrounded her and sunk deep into her core.

_She’s alive._ Up until this moment, she had not let herself truly believe she would see her again. _She’s here._

Her eyes never leaving the queen’s, Theo leapt into the air, effortlessly clearing the heads of the people around her. She rolled once as she hit the stones, effortlessly getting her feet back under her and dashing forward. Within seconds, she was at the base of the platform. She sprung up upon it easily, her feet already moving before she’d really landed.

Captain Wulfric stepped in front of the Queen, one hand already moving to grasp his sword. But before it was even half-way drawn, a hand forced his back down, another pushing firmly into his chest, sending him sprawling backwards. Reba tensed beside Elsa but took a measured step back only, her green eyes flashing with intrigue.

Theonia stopped alone before the Queen, close enough to touch her, close enough for Elsa to hear her labored breath. The crowd was silent, waiting for the Queen to take her down, to freeze her solid or blow her clear away.

But it was Theo who moved first, for while she stared into those eyes, Else was unable to move. She knelt at Elsa’s feet, drawing her blade. Lowering her head reverently, Theo laid her sword across her palms.

“My queen, my winter, my Isen…” Theo murmured, gently drawing the blade across her left forearm. Blood dribbled down her skin. “I pledge myself, the blood in my veins, every muscle in my body, every breath I take, and the blade in my hands to you. Isen, goddess of the Winter…” She drew a tiny circle on Elsa’s wrist with the blood, Elsa shivering at the light touch. Her muscles unlocked, her powers flooded back to her and the air around her suddenly shimmered with delicate ice crystals.

Theo smiled, one corner of her mouth turning up. “Elsa…it’s good to see you again.” She stood, Elsa’s hand still in hers. She dropped it slowly, seeming only to do so so that she could slide her sword back into its sheath.

Elsa could only stare at her. The former host of summer looked so different and yet so little had changed. Her hair had grown out. It fell unevenly against her shoulders and framed her face in a way Elsa had never witnessed before. She still wore Garret’s old clothes but they seemed to fit her better now. A long cloak was tied about her shoulders, a small bag, and the Guardian’s sword dangled from her hips.

But her face seemed softer, less tense than it had been when she had carried Branna’s soul around with her. Her eyes were no longer the piercing, horrifying red color they had been when she was the fire host. Now they were grey, dark like cooled ashes. Her smile was unforced and just a bit mischievous. And directed entirely at her.

Elsa took a single step towards Theo.

And slapped her right across her smiling face, hard.

Theo’s face turned away but she did not stumble under the force of the blow. “I deserved that…” Elsa heard her mutter quietly.

Elsa wanted to hug her. Or hit her again, she wasn’t quite sure which. “Seven months…” Elsa snarled quietly. “Give me one good reason why?” She’d thought about this moment, the possibility of this miracle every day since their battle. But now that it was here, staring her in the face with that same grin, she didn’t know what she felt anymore.

Theo stared down at her arm, where the blood from her bonding cut still bled from her skin.

“I have none.” She said in such a way that Elsa knew she understood how deeply her presence here affected everyone. “I only have this promise:” Theo continued, “I mean neither you nor Arendelle harm. I have returned to repent for my sins, to protect you as your Guardian.”

Elsa didn’t know what to do, much less what to say. Everyone was still watching them, confounded by the display of chivalry the object of their rage was currently displaying. The moment was broken however, when Wulfric came forward, his blade drawn and held at Theo’s throat. The crowd murmured in conflict and a few cried out in approval. Theo didn’t even twitch.

“Don’t!” Elsa shouted reflexively.

A look of confusion passed over her Captain’s face but he took a step back. “My Queen? Give the word and I will slay her.” Theo’s eyes darted to the Queen’s but she had no apparent reaction to her impending doom.

The crowd shuffled uneasily and murmured darkly, clearly desiring this outcome.

Elsa bit her lip to keep herself from shouting again. She should execute her. Any other ruler would when faced with an angry mob such as this and the criminal in question at sword-tip right in front of them. But she couldn’t. It was not physically possible for her to utter those words. Duty demanded that which her heart could not allow. She was stuck.

As Elsa’s silence dragged, Theo fell to her knees at the Queen’s feet, her head touching the ground.

“I understand if you wish me dead. It is only fitting given my misdeeds against your kingdom.” Her voice carried far beyond the platform, across the curious stares of the crowd. She drew her sword again, making Wulfric flinch but made no move to wield it. Instead, she let the blade clatter to the ground, far enough away that she could not reach it. “But believe me when I say I wish your kingdom no further harm. Not by my hand. I am here to repent. But if I must die, for my last request I ask only for this: test me before I am to be killed. I will receive whatever punishment you see fit without making a sound, without a single complaint or tear. In this way, I hope to prove myself worthy of both you and of Arendelle. If I can accomplish this, I request that my life be spared. And I will dedicate the rest of my existence to whatever service you wish of me.”

Elsa could have smiled at her had the situation been less tense. This was a reasonable surrender; a plea for mercy and a second chance. She was repentant. To kill her now would be unjustifiably cruel. “There is no need to kill her Wulfric.” She told her captain.

He looked at her, his sword falling away from Theo’s neck. “Your Majesty?”

Elsa looked anywhere but at Theo, addressing her decree to the entire crowd. “She will serve her sentence in the castle as my personal servant and, if she proves agreeable, my knight. I will keep a close eye on her.” It was unorthodox but it granted the protection Theo would need. A servant would be close to her at all times. A royal knight was a figure of respect. A royal knight could not by lynched by a mob.

Her gaze fell upon a vertical post to the left of center in the square, used for ceremonies. “But for her test, she will receive 22 public lashes for her transgressions.”  
Wulfric followed her gaze and nodded in consent. He hefted Theo up by her arm and gestured for several nearby guards to assist him. Elsa tried not to look but she caught sight of the tiniest hint of approval on Theo’s face as the girl was dragged to the post. She bit her lip. Now she just had to hope that Theo could pass the test she had laid before her.

Another guard brought her a chair but she waved it away. She would not watch this as a spectacle.

Reba sidled back next to her, standing just behind the Queen’s elbow. “This is wise of her.” She said quietly, so only Elsa could hear. “Her sins are not easily forgiven. But if she can show everyone that she is a woman of honor and willing to endure punishment, perhaps they can begin to forgive her.”

Elsa grunted quietly but offered no reply. Her heart was still struggling to figure out where it stood in this whole mess.

The crowd murmured with equal parts uneasy and anticipation, a few even poked aggressively at Theo as she was escorted to the post but Wulfric and the guards kept them from doing anything more.

At the pole, rope was procured from a nearby merchant and the Guardian was pushed roughly towards the post. Theo obliged without complaint or hesitation, removing her belt, satchel, and cloak and placing them in the arms of a waiting guard. Then she grasped the hem of her tunic and lifted the material over her head, revealing yet another change Elsa was not prepared for. 

Elsa swallowed hard. Where before she had been merely slim, the new Guardian’s body was taught and toned with lean muscle. Elsa felt her breath catch in her throat and her vision narrow considerably until all she seemed capable of acknowledging was the expanse of skin and the rippling power moving underneath. She was immensely glad Theo’s back was to her. And that the soldiers had chosen not to remove her black breast band. The shirt joined the pile of Theo’s things held by a staring and enraptured guard. Elsa’s finger twitched in annoyance but the man busied himself with the Guardian’s belongings after a pointed cough from Wulfric.

The captain took his position as Theo’s hands were lifted above her head and secured to the post by another guard. True to her word, she offered no resistance. The crowd had shifted itself until they formed a mass around the edges of the whipping post, hungry for the punishment they craved.

Elsa tore her eyes from Theo’s muscular back. “Begin.” She ordered, after clearing her throat softly. “Count them aloud captain.”

Wulfric took a long length of hardened rawhide from his lieutenant and set about winding it into loose loops. The crowd quieted instantly, all eyes and ears on the condemned.

The captain signaled his men back and flicked his wrist as he eyed the bound girl.

Elsa leaned forward, hands on the railing of the platform.

The queen flinched as the whip lashed out suddenly, snapping in the air before it was brought down with a crack upon golden skin.

Theo tensed but made no sound. An angry red welt appeared across her spine.

The crowd was silent as well, eagerly listening for any whimper of pain or sign of weakness from the woman. They were not rewarded.

Wulfric clenched his teeth. “One.” He counted.

He raised the whip again, flicking his wrist to receive a reassuring snap from the end.

Elsa flinched along with Theo as the second lash was landed right along the same line as the first and a tickle of blood appeared. Still Theo made no sound.

“Two.”

The third lash swiped hard against Theo’s lower back, splitting the skin effortlessly. One could have heard a pin drop in the courtyard but no sounds came from the post. Several people in the crowd looked away.

“…Three.”

It was only now that Elsa realized the extremity of her punishment. She had seen some of her guards punished similarly to this and even the toughest of them had not made it past 12 lashes without collapsing against the post, crying out in anguish. What was she thinking to believe that Theo could quietly take, let alone survive 22 lashes? She could see the way Theo’s knuckles clenched, the tension in her shoulders as she prepared herself for more whippings. Blood dripped steadily down her back. But her face was resolutely calm, her eyes closed in concentration as lash after lash fell upon her and not even a gasp left her lips. She wasn’t going to give in, not even if she bled out. 

Twelve more of these passed before Elsa could bare it no longer.

“Enough!” She cried, ice streaking across the platform under her feet. Wulfric paused in his round-up for a fresh strike, looking nauseous but waiting for his queen’s order. 

The crowd remained still, either so engrossed in the spectacle that they couldn’t take their eyes off of the bleeding woman or so ashamed of the display of incredible resilience that they were witnessing that they stared at their feet in silent self-loathing. Theo’s back was riddled with angry red lashes, many of which were split open and bleeding freely.

“That’s enough captain,” Elsa declared, trying to get a hold of herself. Her ice only thickened beneath her. Theo needed medical care to keep the lashes from getting infected, she needed ice to cool the burn of the whip. Anxious as she was, Elsa took a deep breath to steady her voice. “Untie her and…”

“No.”

The quiet, level negative from the girl tied to the post turned the heads of everyone in the courtyard. Elsa felt the beams under her feet begin to split as her ice mercilessly crushed them.

“You ordered 22 lashes…” Theo said, her eyes on the ground. “I will receive them all.” She was trembling but stood resolutely on her feet instead of letting her bonds support her. “I will make no sound.”

The crowd began to murmur again but it was less murderous this time, as if many of them had become uncomfortable with the display but couldn’t decide if they wanted it to end or not. Theo remained silent, staring blankly into the distance beyond the courtyard. If Elsa knew her at all, she was resolute. And she was honorable. If she was sentenced to 22 lashes, she would not quit until she got them all.

And Elsa was dying to talk to her alone as soon as possible.

Making eye contact with her captain, Elsa nodded. Wulfric grimaced but flicked the whip again. The hard rawhide hissed across Theo’s skin but no other sound was heard.

“Sixteen.” Wulfric continued, his voice flat and his eyes hard. Elsa knew he hated administering public whippings but he was the only man she had trusted to not be unnecessarily cruel with Theo.

True to his character, the remainder of Wulfric’s lashings were quick and shallow. But the damage was visible to all.

As the 22nd lash fell upon her, Theo fell against her bonds, her chest heaving but not a single sound falling from her lips. Wulfric tossed the whip aside with disgust and knelt next to her, gently lifting her drooping eyelids and speaking softly to her.

The crowd was deathly still, every single one of them unexpectedly concerned about the woman they had all wanted dead mere minutes ago. Elsa straightened up, releasing a deep breath of her own. It was over. She descended the stairs from the now ruined ice-splintered platform, the crowd silently and respectfully parting as she walked towards Theo’s slumped form. Wulfric bowed and backed away to leave Elsa and Theo alone at the post.

For a moment, Elsa just stared at the broken and bleeding girl before her. She had actually done it. Her back was diced with crisscrossed, ugly welts and gashes, her golden skin inflamed. 

With a flick of her wrist, a sharp icicle pierced the bonds and Theo fell to the ground in a silent, quivering heap. Her breathing slowed and she looked up at Elsa, her eyes shining in triumph.

Elsa wanted to hit her again. But this time, she could not bring herself to. Her face tight with the effort of not showing her current feelings, Elsa stretched out a hand toward the beaten girl.

“Come with me.”

She took Theo’s bloody, trembling hand and pulled her out of the crowd.


	3. Autumn's Changes Part 2

**CHAPTER 1: AUTUMN'S CHANGES**   
_Part 2_

No one dared to follow them from the market. Even Reba had slipped away on her own mission: to retrieve the Guardian’s belongings and deliver them later no doubt. Elsa kept a tight grip on Theo’s shaking hand, the injured woman taking slow, pained steps behind her as they made their way back to the palace. When Theo finally stumbled and almost fell to her knees, an audible gasp of pain leaving her lips, Elsa swallowed hard and hefted the other girl’s arm over her shoulders. Supporting the Guardian, she led them back to the palace. As soon as they were through the doors and finally alone within the dim entrance hall, Elsa conjured up an icy shirt for Theo.

“Don’t…” Theo moaned as the cooling material fell against her bleeding and inflamed skin. “I need the pain to grow stronger.” But she was nestling against the cold anyway, most of her weight leaning on Elsa’s supportive shoulder. The heat coming off of her was comparable to that of Branna.

Elsa busied herself with thickening the shirt, adding more layers between them. “I would feel better if you wore it.” Her face was burning. She didn’t know if it was because of her shame about the whipping or the alluring sight of that expanse of golden skin… “I…I’m so sorry.” Elsa said before that thought could go any further. She laid gentle hands on the ice. “I…I should have made him stop.”

The woman shook her head. “No, you did the right thing. If you hadn’t punished me, you would appear weak.” Theo tried to stand up straighter but winced and hunched her back again. “And now I’ve proven my devotion both to you and Arendelle…” She said, smiling through gritted teeth.

Elsa grabbed Theo by the arm to help her stand upright but Theo gently waved her off. “If this is how you go about proving yourself, I think I have fair reason to worry.” Elsa told her, her voice shaking.

“I have a lot to atone for.”

A long silence passed between them, broken only by Theo’s ragged breathing as she hugged herself tightly.

This was the moment Elsa had been waiting for. They were alone, out of public sight and earshot. A thousand questions bubbled to the forefront of her mind but the one that made it through to break the silence was unfortunately, the most accusatory. “Why are you here?” Elsa asked.

Theo was silent, rolling her neck experimentally as if mentally checking her range of motion after her beating. There was a large discolored mark at the base of her neck, almost as if a burn had healed improperly there.

Elsa reached out to touch it but drew her hand back when Theo turned to look at her. “What happened to you?” She asked, much more softly.

A small smile broke through the pain on the Guardian’s face. “So much. Do you have time for a long story?”

Elsa felt like she wanted to smile but the roiling torrent of emotions within her was already causing a light snowfall to dust at Theo’s shoulders. “I will make the time.” She finally said, taking Theo gently by the arm and leading her deeper into the palace. “But first, we need to get you fixed up. Properly.” She snapped, cutting Theo off from clearly wanting to protest treatment. “I don’t care if you are the Guardian now, leaving yourself to heal without at least a salve wont help anybody, least of all you.” They started to climb the stairs, Elsa’s hand hooked under Theo’s elbow to assist her when necessary.

The Guardian looked up at her as they crested the first landing. “…you…you’re taking this rather well.”

Elsa froze in place, her heart hammering. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…you just found out I’m ‘back from the dead’ and that I’m charged with protecting you for the rest of my natural life and you’re already worried about my health.”

The coy smile Elsa had been expecting to accompany that statement was missing, the Guardian’s face was instead a soft, contemplative mask that bore into the Queen’s soul.

The silence returned, but this time, it was laced with uncertainty rather than promise. The challenge was redirected back to her. And Elsa had no idea what to say.

“Elsa?”

Both of them whipped around at the soft voice calling from down the hall. Elsa’s eyes widened as she took in the disheveled form of her sister, stepping quietly out of the nursery and staring at them in question.

“I thought I heard your voice…how did…” Anna caught sight of Theo and peered around her sister for a better look. Elsa was rigid.

Anna’s gaze drifted back and forth between them: the stranger hunched over in pain and wearing an ice shirt and the immobile queen. “Elsa? What happened? Who’s…?” But her eyes lit up in recognition as Theo looked up. Anna’s eyes flared, her whole form seeming to bristle and glow with her newfound intensity. “You.” They had never met, but from the stories told about the Battle of the Seasons as well as Elsa’s own testimony, Anna could have painted a startlingly accurate portrait of the former host of summer. Assuming of course, that Anna could paint.

Likewise, the new Guardian had known Anna’s face for a long time, but for an entirely different reason. Theo took a gentle step away from Elsa, leaving a clear path between her and Anna. A small smile lit up her eyes. “Hello, Anna. I’m Theonia.”

That was all she managed before Anna tackled her around the middle, both of them crashing to the floor.

“Anna no!” Elsa cried. But Theo did not move, she allowed Anna to straddle her without a fight and punch her repeatedly, her expression blank and accepting as Anna pummeled her.

Elsa grabbed her sister around the middle and tried to haul her off of the already battered Guardian but Anna had always been the stronger of the two and easily struggled free to continue her assault.

“Why…are…you…here…again?” Anna asked between punches, her rage apparent in each blow. She knew how Theo had destroyed their city, how she had sent Hans to kill her, and (most importantly to Anna), how she had hurt and confused her beloved elder sister so much that the queen was forced to keep more and more secrets from her. Each livid punch found it’s mark and the face she had harbored so much resentment towards for months wearily accepted her beating.

Elsa finally got Anna off by sending ice crawling down her sister’s back. Anna shrieked and leapt off of Theo, dancing slightly as the ice melted against her skin.

“Elsa!” The princess rounded on her sister, fists clenched, long hairs tumbling out of her bun. “What was that for?!”

“I didn’t want you to kill her!” Elsa said, walking towards her with her palms up. “please, she’s been through a lot today.”

“What do you care?” Anna asked, wiping the blood from her knuckles and glaring down at Theo’s beaten form. “After what she did?”

“Anna…” Elsa said softly. “Please…”

Something in her voice must have communicated a deeper meaning to her sister because Anna deflated instantly. She looked down at her victim, something like regret in her eyes.

Theo slowly sat up, blood dripping down her face from her nose and numerous cuts around her lips and eyebrows. A particularly nasty one split her upper lip and ran across her left cheek. Grunting and wincing, she rose slowly to her feet.

“You have a mean right hook, Princess Anna…” She said, sounding more than a bit delirious. After all the blood she’d lost today and the physical abuse she’d seen, Elsa was amazed the Guardian could stand at all.

“Elsa…?” Anna sounded confused again, her eyes flicking uncertainly between Theo and her sister. She clearly wanted to apologize for the beating but wasn’t sure if she _should_.

Elsa took her sister’s hand. The one less covered in Theo’s blood. “Anna…this is Theonia…the former host of the fire goddess and…” she took a deep breath. “the current Guardian.”

Anna turned to her, surprised. Elsa had told her much about the ways of the Council, including the occupation and fate of Garret. “Guardian? But doesn’t that mean…?” They turned back to Theo but she wasn’t there. The woman had limped towards the open door Anna had emerged from and entered the room. A soft series of gurgles and quiet yowls came from inside.

Elsa quickly followed her, pausing at the threshold of the newly-minted nursery. This had been hers and Anna’s first room when they were born. The room had large windows with thick white curtains to aid in midday naps or nighttime feedings. The walls were a soft blue and covered in the Arendelle crest as well as several softer scenes such as snowscapes and forests crawling with friendly animals. The old rocking chair that Gerda and their mother had rocked them in was seated in the corner of the room, near the window and the cabinets and tables had recently been cleaned, repaired and restocked in anticipation of the first child born to the palace in over 20 years.

But Theo’s attention had been captivated by the bassinet in the center of the room. She stepped towards it slowly, her eyes never leaving the tiny hands reaching out from it. A soft cry from the bassinet was immediately cut short as Theo stepped closer.

Elsa drew a sharp breath as Theo’s black eyes momentarily returned to the red hue she had feared and loved so much when Theo had been a host. She shivered but did not feel herself go immobile.

Elsa knew what this was. Bonding. Theo had recognized her niece for her true form.

“Sophie…”

Anna dashed into the room at the mention of her daughter, her whole body stiffening as she saw Theo slowly approaching the bassinet. Elsa lunged forward, only barely managing to grab hold of her sister before she could tackle the Guardian again.

Theo paid them no mind, instead taking slow, limping steps towards the child.

Elsa held her sister down as Anna violently tried to rip free. “Get off me Elsa!” Anna screamed, practically sobbing. “She’s going to hurt my baby!”

Anna managed to free one arm and Elsa tightened her hold, even going as far as to wrap her legs around her sister’s vastly stronger form. “Trust her.” Elsa whispered in her sister’s ear. Something in the way she spoke resonated with her sister and Anna stilled, watching with labored breath.

As the Guardian reached the bassinet, Elsa felt her muscles lock as the ancient ritual of Guardian bonding to a host began once again. Theo leaned over the bassinet, her face filling with wonder as she took in the sight of the two-day old baby who had once been a presence inside her soul.

***

Sophie was still and silent as her Guardian gazed upon her. Theo’s eyes glistened with unshed tears of pain and anger, but they were monstrously dwarfed by the expression of pure love dominating her face. “Hello Branna.” She dipped her finger in the nasty cut Anna had opened up next to her lips and gently drew a circle with her blood on Sophie’s forehead. “ _I’ve come back._ ” She whispered conspiratorially.

The blood faded into the baby’s skin as she giggled in delight. Sophie smiled and stretched one chubby hand towards Theo’s face. A tiny flame appeared in her palm, flickering steadily.

Theo laughed as her tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. “You couldn’t get rid of me that easily…” She took the child’s tiny hand with infinite care and began to whisper the words of bonding as if it were a fantastical bedtime story for the young child’s ears alone.

Sophie’s mother watched with curious, startled eyes but said nothing.

***

The plan would not work if another was protecting the Queen…

Cutting through the assembled crowd, Arturo ducked into an empty alley, sprinting towards the city gate. Upon reaching the exit to the city, he drew his hood up over his crimson hair and forced himself to slow to a walk, not wanting to attract unwanted attention. His steps over the bridge and under the open gate were excruciating and he dug his nails into his arm to keep himself from taking off at a sprint again. Thankfully, not many people were leaving the city this time of day so as soon as he was a good distance from Arendelle’s gate, Arturo dashed into the cover of the wood, his cloak flowing behind him. His feet pounded the uneven, lumpy soil, his breath rasping in his throat.

This was not good. This was the absolute worst development they could have seen.

The Guardian was the reason the attempt had failed last time. And with this one being so strong…

He whistled two piercing notes and his horse cantered towards him from among the trees. Without missing a beat, Arturo swung himself into the saddle and was racing off towards his camp. He had to get a messenger hawk back to Weselton. The Duke had to know about this complication.

He was already composing his coded message as he cantered up the hill: _Mission failed. Winter and new child are protected. The Guardian has returned. Will wait for further instructions…_

They would have to start all over now. With the Guardian protecting the Queen indefinitely, none of their attempts could hope to prevail this way…

Arturo groaned to himself as his horse took the mountain path, slowing on the steep, rocky dirt. _This means the Duke will get_ him _involved_ … They’d all been hoping to avoid that.

Master spy though he was, Arturo failed to notice the man who had been following him since the city slip into the shadows of the forest, tailing him easily on foot as his horse struggled up the mountain.

***

Elsa was at her wits end. The sun had set, Theo was still inside the palace and Anna hadn’t killed her yet.

“Stop pacing, you’ll warp the floorboards apart if you keep it up…”

She paused, the long-absent voice and dry humor cutting her deeper than expected. Theo looked up at her from her spot crouched next to the hearth in the sitting room, her black eyes getting lost in the flickering light. Elsa felt her heart clench. From this angle, Theo looked exactly the same as she had all those months ago. Before the Battle. Before the absence.

“I just…” Elsa looked away, unable to keep looking at the unfamiliar eyes and realized that her powers had been alternatively freezing and thawing the floorboards under her feet as she paced agitatedly. She took a deep breath and willed her ice away. “I can’t believe you’re really here…after all this time.”

Theo smiled softly, one corner of her mouth curling. “To be honest, neither can I.” She shifted somewhat uncomfortably under Elsa’s continued gaze, wincing slightly as her clothes scrapped across the tender skin on her back.

A new shirt had — thankfully — been procured.

Gerda had taken one look at Theo and dragged her off to have a proper salve applied to her wounds, not questioning the nature of the beating or the reason for it. In fact, she had been the only person in the castle so far to wholeheartedly accept the new Guardian under their roof. When Reba had appeared with the Guardian’s cloak, belt, sword, bag, and old shirt, she had merely handed them off without a word and melted back into the shadows, off to whatever enigmatic business she had.

Anna had been strangely silent since the encounter at the nursery. She stared at Theo all through a tense dinner like she were some kind of trap waiting to be sprung but with an expression that said she was unsure if she should be wary of said trap. Captain Wulfric had needed both Elsa and Anna to reassure him that the Guardian could be left alone with the royal family. Even Kristoff had not been pleased to see his childhood acquaintance again. He hadn’t said a word to the new Guardian, instead pulling Elsa aside for his comments while Theo was being doctored. “She comes back here after 7 months and does what? Does she really think a whipping will make people forget what she did here?”

And Elsa…she had not left Theo’s side. Not even while she had been treated for her wounds. There was some kind of magnetic pull working on her, drawing her towards the woman. She wasn’t sure if this was good or bad. The two of them had not spoken much since their brief conversation in the palace entrance. But they had spent less than 2 minutes apart since they had left the marketplace.

Theo sighed heavily, drawing Elsa back to the present. “It has been…one hell of a journey for me these past few months.” She drew into herself further and Elsa couldn’t help but notice a tiny shiver run through her form.

“Are you cold?” She asked, mentally checking her powers to make sure she wasn’t lowering the room temperature unbearably. Her cold obeyed, the room was warm.

Theo stubbornly shook her head. “No.” Her gaze softened slightly. “…maybe. Where did my cloak end up?” She glanced around but her things had been left with Gerda in the infirmary, several doors away from the sitting room.

Elsa grabbed a blanket from the couch and offered it to the woman. “It must be odd to feel the cold now. After going so long with Branna protecting you from it.”

Their hands brushed ever so slightly as she handed the blanket off. Elsa felt the distinct bone of a knuckle iced with the barest hint of her frost before she snatched her hand away.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Theo’s face like firelight. She pulled the blanket around her in one smooth motion, keeping it well clear of the flames.

“It’s no odder than actually being under a roof.” The Guardian commented. “It has been so long since I’ve lived _inside_ or even had a proper fire.” Theo stretched her hand towards the flames. The fire curled forward and around her fingers as if begging to be touched. But Theo sadly pulled her hand back as the orange flames licked at her skin. “They recognize me…but they are not mine anymore…”

Elsa could feel her ice starting to creep towards the fireplace. It was getting increasingly hard to will her powers to stop manifesting. There was just too much here between them in this room. She wished desperately for Anna. Or even Kristoff. Hell, even Hans. Anyone to provide a buffer between them while they had this conversation. But they were alone. Terrifyingly alone in a dim room. She clenched her fists as the fireplace began to hiss from the proximity of her ice. “Why are you here?” She asked again, trying not to sound angry this time.

Theo nestled deeper into her blanket. “I’m not planning to attack Arendelle again, Elsa.” She almost sounded like she was joking.

“I’m sorry…” Theo apologized, wrapping the blanket tightly around her as this time Elsa actually felt the temperature drop. “I know this cant be easy for you, seeing me like this when the last time we saw each other I was trying to destroy everything you loved…” Her gaze spoke volumes but she was unable to meet Elsa’s eyes.

Elsa felt an icicle take form on the wall behind her; out of sight but painfully sharp. “You just disappeared…”

Theo’s gaze darkened. “I nearly died.”

Elsa was silent, waiting for her to continue.

“You don’t seem particularly surprised to see I’m alive.” Theo finally said, looking up at the Queen uneasily.

Elsa’s only response was to pull the glass ball from her sleeve, where it had been waiting since that morning. She held it out to Theo.

The girl’s eyes lit up. “Ahh…I remember you…” She gently took it from the Queen, running her fingers over the changing rivulets of color embedded into the fine glass. She examined it delicately and yet with intense focus, as if rediscovering a lost treasure she had thought destroyed.

An unwelcome comparison crossed Elsa’s mind. It was the same way Theo had once looked at her ice.

She spoke loudly to cover up the cracking sound of her ice tearing into the floorboards behind her. “I found it the other night. It was the only hope I had that you were…” Theo looked up at her and Elsa’s vulnerability died in her throat. “What happened to you?” She asked instead.

Theo placed the orb down next to the fire, where the crackling flames sent skittering bursts of light across the surface. The whole display resembled the northern lights. 

The Guardian sat on her heels, her back to Elsa as she stared into the fire. “Branna left me.” She began hollowly. “She sacrificed my life to try to stop you by casting herself free from me. My soul was torn in half, my skin burned, my eyes blinded. But the Mother saw fit to grant me mercy and she gave me enough strength to crawl out of Arendelle, to leave.” She caressed the orb with one finger, casting a shadow across the dancing lights.

The Queen had to swallow hard before she could muster up her voice. “Where did you go?”

“The only place I could: back to the temple.” Theo replied. She looked up at the wall above the fireplace, where a large painting of Arendelle’s harbor glistening in the sunlight was rendered. “It was there that I found my new calling…Garret reached out to me…telling me of the Mother’s Final Command: a new Guardian to protect the Daughters. Well, the Daughters and the Son.”

“So where have you been all this time?”

“The Mother’s Sacred Grove. A spot even more secluded and unknowable than the temple. It is where the Guardian trains, and where we find our weapons. I trained for months, healing from my ordeals and preparing myself for my new place.”

Elsa stepped closer to her, stopping just short of actually standing beside her. “But why come back now?”

Theo’s hands were clenched and she examined her fists as if they were strange to her, powerful and unknowable. “I felt the birth of Sophie.” She finally said. “It was like a wake-up call. I knew that I needed to be here…with her.”

 _And with me_. That particular connotation of the Guardian’s statement went unspoken by both of them. Theo turned slightly, looking up at Elsa. She didn’t seem startled to find the Queen so close to her, rather she seemed to be studying her, looking for the reason.

Elsa stepped aside slightly, moving away from the firelight and the warmth. “What about Scara?” She found herself asking. “And Hans?”

Theo chuckled softly. “They’ll be alright. I knew as soon as my training was complete, I would have to find Sophie…the girl I kept seeing in my dreams…Branna’s new life.”

Elsa said nothing but her arms wrapped tightly around her middle.

“I’m the only one who understands how difficult the power of Summer can be to contain.” Theo continued. “Sophie needs me to guide and protect her.” She smiled. “Plus, Scara has proven she can more than handle Hans. In fact, I think she might have somehow managed to heal the schism between Life and Death…”

Elsa had to laugh at that statement but it came out sounding choked. Hans and Scara had become inseparable during their time in Arendelle. It had been fascinating to watch, actually.

“So you are staying.” Elsa said quietly, her arms drawing tighter around her.

Theo nodded. “The spirits are changing…and with them, the legends.” She stood silently, the fire casting her face in shadow. “The Guardian had to take on a new identity to be able to keep up with all of you. Between Hans becoming a host and you…well,” she chuckled and Elsa felt herself flush deeply as Theo’s eyes traveled her form. “…you being _you_ …change was necessary.” She continued to stare at Elsa, her eyes soft and warm as they watched her. “Isen would build herself a regal body…Branna always said she was proud and dignified.” Her smile lifted just a bit more, slipping into charming territory. “Just like you.” She took a small step forward, extending a hand towards the Queen.

Elsa stiffened, the temperature in the room dropping about twelve degrees in an instant. “What are you doing?”

Theo’s smile faded. She raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

Elsa wasn’t even trying to hold her powers back now. Snow swirled around her protectively as she glared at Theonia. “You cant just come back in here, all smiles and apologies and expect me to just melt because you’re here.” Elsa fought to keep her voice from revealing just how true Theo had made that statement already. “How can I forget what you did? What you wanted to do?”

Theo was silent for a moment, allowing Elsa to collect herself, to let her speak. The snow seemed to swirl to avoid her as best it could in the few feet of space between them.

“You betrayed us…” Elsa continued, her voice low and angry. “you sent me away while you tried to destroy everything I loved. You tried to kill my sister.”

Theo looked away from her, staring at the glass ball. “…any explanation I had for my actions died when Branna left me.” She finally said. “I mistook your situation for a problem and I…thought I was doing right by my choices…”

Elsa let out a strained, disbelieving laugh. To her surprise, Theo dropped the blanket and fell to her knees at Elsa’s feet, her head bowed. The snow stilled in the air, waiting.

“I am not asking you for forgiveness, Elsa.” The Guardian said, her voice low but clear. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I forsook that right when I tried to have Anna killed. You have no idea how hard it was for me to come back here, knowing that…you’d never look at me the same.” She looked up at Elsa, her eyes wide with desperation. “But I _have_ to be here now. For Sophie. But I will do so in whatever capacity you see fit. If you wish to never see me again, I will do my work out of your sight, keeping my distance but always protecting you. If you want me to join the palace guards and become a servant of your will, I will do so. If you wish for me to take an indefinite vow of silence, you will never hear another word from these lips.” She lowered herself so far that her forehead touched the cold wood of the floor. “I am willing to spend every single day that I am here working to even be considered worthy of your attention again.”

Elsa took a deep breath and her snow faded from the air of the room. “And if I find it impossible to ignore your presence?”

The Guardian’s head shot up in surprise, black eyes locking on her own. “Elsa…”

“We kissed, Theonia. Twice.” Saying it out loud seemed to make even the flames in the fireplace still.

A long silence stretched endlessly between them, compounded by the several feet between their bodies. But unlike the other silences of the day, this one felt insurmountable. Endless.

When Theo finally spoke, it was nothing Elsa had imagined she would say. “Elsa, whatever we thought we felt…it was just a myth.”

Elsa blinked, hard. “Wh…what?”

Theo slowly stood, keeping her head down. “Branna and Isen were drawn to each other and now…” She shrugged. “Branna’s gone. So’s the connection.”

Her stomach felt like it had been punctured. “So all that time…you felt…nothing?” Her powers were strangely vacant at the moment. It seemed that they had been startled into obscurity for once.

The Guardian drew a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter what I felt when I was Branna’s host.” Theo replied gently. “I’m your Guardian now. A Guardian distances themselves from all worldly desires to keep their judgment clear. We have no human attachments to this world.”

Elsa’s hands were shaking but her frost was still absent. “But…even when we were…”

“A Guardian and a host can never be together Elsa.” Theo said flatly, in such a way that instantly reminded Elsa of the days when they would bicker bitterly with one another.

“I am not a host.” Elsa found herself snapping. “I never was.”

“You are also not the Mother.” Theo returned, in a tone of voice that Elsa found it hard to argue with. “These rules were made centuries ago for a reason, Elsa. We cannot break them all and expect nothing to happen.” She stopped quite suddenly, looking at Elsa sidelong. Sighing softly, Theo closed her eyes. Her brow furrowed as if a twinge from her back had asserted itself. “I know this hurt you Elsa. Such a deep connection is not easily healed. Take it from me, that pain will one day fade and you will be able to find your husband and marry. You do not need to take my feelings into account. Only your own.”

Elsa could feel a chill now. But it wasn’t her powers manifesting again. This chill was deep within herself. “So…you…you’re not here for…”

Theo opened her eyes. “I’m here for Sophie, the little girl who’s burden I shared.” She met Elsa’s gaze levelly, but with no challenge in her eyes. “I will protect you as well, however you wish me to.” She bowed her head once more. Submissive. Wrong.

There was nothing more to say. Elsa found herself stepping back, the chill within her not quite leaving.

“If you are staying, it might take us some time to procure you a permanent bedroom.” She said after a moment.

Theo seemed to relax slightly, glad that Elsa had at least accepted her presence in the castle. “I understand. I’ll stay here for tonight.” She crouched by the fire again, drawing the discarded blanket about her shoulders.

She looked so small silhouetted against the flames. “Are you sure?” Elsa asked. “You could share my…”

Theo’s black eyes snapped up to hers, killing the request in Elsa’s throat.

“I don’t think that would be wise, my queen.” The Guardian said.

The long silence returned.

Her nerves frayed, Elsa turned away, leaving the Guardian to her flames and her thoughts. At the door, she paused. “…Good night, Theo.” She offered softly.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Theo’s head rise slightly. “Good night…my Queen.”

Without the sarcasm, it sounded wrong coming from Theo’s lips.

Elsa slipped outside the sitting room, her chest feeling heavy. She leaned against the doorframe, struggling to breathe normally. Her cold came back to her then, not the heavy chill deep within her but the familiar sensation that had always been a part of her life. Fractals of ice twinkled around her, as if trying to cheer her up. But her mind was whirling too much to focus on them.

_So you felt…nothing?_

_It doesn’t matter what I felt…_

She hadn’t denied it. Theo hadn’t said she felt nothing. Instead she had deflected, argued, fought back…

Her heart clenched. Perhaps there was something there after all. But it was going to be hard to know with Theo’s sharp tongue and dry wit making her question every sentence she uttered. 

The more rational part of Elsa’s mind rejected the whole idea. Better to abandon all hope now. Leave the past in the past where it belonged. If Theo was going to be around so often, she’d best figure out her feelings and the way they were going to be around each other. 

And as her Guardian had said…she needed a husband. If Arendelle were to survive, she’d need an heir.

“Elsa…”

She opened her eyes, only slightly surprised to see Anna standing before her.

“Are you alright?” Anna asked, her concern for her sister apparent even under her fatigue.

Out of reflex, Elsa nodded. But she knew it would never fool her sister.

“Were you just talking to her?”

Elsa nodded again.

“What did she say?”

“…she’s going to stay.” Elsa finally said. “For Sophie. She wants to protect her and help her master her powers.”

Anna frowned. “So she’s going to be living with us?” Elsa said nothing, preparing herself for her sister’s indignation. “The woman who tried to have me KILLED is going to be _living_ with us?” Anna continued, her voice rising slightly.

“And tutoring Sophie.”

Anna threw her hands up, but thankfully, did not shout. She huffed instead and her brow came down over her eyes like it did whenever she worried too much.

Elsa drew her into a hug, trying to soothe her agitated sister. Anna relaxed against her, but only slightly.

“I don’t like this, Elsa…” She mumbled.

Elsa stroked her hair. “Neither do I.” She admitted. “But it is the best course of action. As much as I want to help Sophie, I don’t know anything about having the power to control fire.” She pulled away from her sister, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Theo is the only person alive who understands what that is like. She can help Sophie learn control.”

Anna bit her lip. Elsa knew her sister wanted nothing more than for her daughter to fully embrace who she was. To not have to live in isolation and fear as Elsa and Anna had for so long. Here was a perfect opportunity to ensure that. It was just wrapped in very inconvenient emotional baggage for them both.

Elsa waited for her sister to collect her thoughts. Anna huffed after several seconds of silent deliberation, finally turning to her sister with new-mother strain in her eyes. Her question was one Elsa had been expecting. “But do you trust her, Elsa?”

The Queen’s response was immediate. “Yes.”

Anna raised a questioning eyebrow. “So…you’ve forgiven her then? For everything she did?”

Elsa hadn’t been expecting that question. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, the ancient part of her knew without a shadow of a doubt that if she were to open the doorway at this moment, she would find her Guardian waiting in the shadows, overhearing everything they were saying. That same part of her ached for that presence, for the Guardian to chase away the metaphorical chill of loneliness that still occasionally gnawed at her soul. But in her very mortal heart, the chill was still very real.

“No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the Placecards and times (i.e. "Kingdom of Arendelle, 1814") are going to become more important for this story in the future. 
> 
> Also, I wouldn't put Elsa/OC in the tags if it wasn't substantial...just sayin'...


	4. Shadows Fall Part 1

**CHAPTER 2: SHADOWS FALL**   
_Part 1_

_After the Daughters fell to Earth, it was as if the main pillars of the Mother’s Realm had been removed. First the stars began to flicker, even though many had just re-gained their place in the sky. The snows had stopped falling but the land remained cold and barren._

_Even the Mother herself could feel the subtle but powerful changes such an absence was inflicting. Her hair had lost some of its shine, her voice some of its luster. Her garden still thrived but needed more than just her usual careful tending. Weeds snuck in around the beds, lured by the abundance of magic that she had to pour into her once effortless garden._

_Unrest grew among the citizens when the seasons became unpredictable. Without her children to guide the cycle, nothing was certain anymore. The seas rose indiscriminately, frosts came in the summer, blizzards fell in the spring and melted the next day. Crops died, people fell sick, the air grew hazy and heavy. There was nowhere to run to escape the turmoil, for the Great Tree was dead and scattered to the winds._

_The people cried to the Mother, begging for her to do something._

_But what could she do? Her heart was heavy with sorrow, so much so that she could not cast her Grace about her own citizens._

_With nothing to protect them, He found his way inside at last._

_It spread like a curse, threatening the Mother and all who called her Realm home. There was nothing strong enough to hold it back and it crept readily into the crevasses of all being’s hearts, tearing them apart from the inside out._

_Tensions flared, anger mounted, war simmered under the surface, waiting to erupt._

_When the 4 brightest lights fade, what is left to hold the Darkness at bay?_

  
**From the writings of Sophie, the great Fire Goddess incarnate, Kingdom of Arendelle, Mid-Winter, 1821**

***

**_Somewhere in the mountains, Autumn, 1814_ **

Hans awoke to the smell of orchids. He opened his eyes slowly, smiling at the thought that Scara had awoken before him again. It was always pleasant to wake up with the smell of fresh flowers surrounding him.

He rose slowly, tussling his unkempt hair into place and stretching languidly. His feet flexed in the thick soil that coated the floor of their room.

His side of the room was decked in fragile, dying plants and the heady scents of fall. Dried leaves clung to the walls and cured herbs hung from his ceiling. His bed itself was mostly a mattress of soil that curled up into a thick oak frame hardened by age. Scara had grown it for him and he had aged it himself.

“Scara?” He called as he pulled on the black tunic laced with brilliant reds, oranges, and browns that he wore more often than not these days.

His companion did not answer. But she was definitely awake. All of her flowers were open, spilling their airy odors into their shared room. Opposite his side of the room was Scara’s bed, decked in every shade of green imaginable and dotted with millions of colors. Her curtains were elaborate mats of flowers that closed as the sun fell upon them and bloomed at night to block out light. Her whole bed was latticed with vines and several dragonflies and bees hummed about her flowers. Halfway between her bed and his, an undulating line in the soil separated the living from the dead; marked with half-bloomed flowers and the decomposing bodies of insects.

Their room was an enormous cycle: his side the end of the natural path of life, Scara’s the beginning. Their creations and styles bled into each other, so oftentimes not even they could tell where one began and the other ended.

One of the bees lazily drifted towards him across the room.

“Careful…” Hans warned it, drawing back slightly. But not for fear of himself. The tiny insect ghosted over his bare hand, not quite touching him but making goosebumps on his flesh. But after several seconds, the bee seemed to sense the aura of the skin under it and it hovered away, just as slowly as it had come.

Hans breathed a sigh of relief as the tiny bee flew away, unharmed. Being here gave him the first sense of pure balance and peace he’d ever felt since his powers had begun leaking out of him.

Formerly the youngest of thirteen princes, Hans of the Southern Isles had suffered under the daily torment of not only his family, but the unyielding crying of the ancient spirit of Autumn locked in his mind. After a visit to Arendelle had failed to give him the freedom and control he wanted, a single rebuke from his father had been enough to send the dormant spirit within him into an emotional rage. He’d spiraled out of control, mad with power and twisted from abandonment. He’d done terrible things…

The presence in his soul shuddered at the memory and a bush of huckleberries next to him wilted.

“Well,” Hans commented wryly. “I see berries are off the breakfast menu…”

_My apologies…_ The voice in his head conceded. _Those memories are still rather…raw for me._

“For me as well.” Hans admitted. He laid his hand upon the bush and it wilted away entirely, decomposing into fresh soil. Less than a year ago, such an action would have disgusted and saddened him. But now he saw it as a mercy, as an important piece of the cycle he had been chosen for.

“Do you know where Scara went?” He asked the spirit. He could have limited the conversation to his thoughts but it felt good to say it out loud. “She can give us some food.”

_Can you not see her?_

Hans glanced around. “What are you talking about?” No one was there.

_Oh no, my apologies again…I keep forgetting which hosts I’ve taught this power to…_

Hans narrowed his eyes at the huge elm tree on his side of the room. Its leaves turned a deep, beautiful purple. “I’m the only male host you’ve ever had…” He reminded her sharply. Sometimes it was endearing that Død could be so forgetful. Other times, Hans wondered if the ancient goddess was just toying with him in retribution for the years they had clashed.

_Oh hush._ The spirit chided him, incomparably reminding him of his mother. _I’m going to teach you something new._

Hans felt a tickle of power run along the underside of his skin. He shivered in delight.

“Wait, will this kill anything around me?” he demanded, tamping down his own pleasure in concern for the room around them.

_This will not leave your skin._ Død assured him. _Now, my hands…like we’ve practiced._

Closing his eyes, Hans was met with the sight of his goddess: Død, the Goddess of Death and Autumn. She was a tall, curvy figure, with earthy skin and copper hair. Her form was changing constantly: her skin withering, hair growing back into her skull and out again, mushrooms of all colors dotting her body, unnamed scents wafting from her and dark secrets swirling behind stormy grey eyes…

Once it had pained him to behold her like this. Now he just let her be, accepting that some of her mysteries would never be known, even to him. The spirit reached for him and Hans placed his right hand in hers. She felt like the end of suffering. It relaxed him entirely.

Their minds as one, Død reached up and gently slid her fingers into his eyes. It didn’t hurt, it merely felt as if she were anointing him internally. Hans let her power flow into him, the tingling under his skin wriggling upward towards the place she touched. It amazed him how quickly they had come to trust each other after everything. But submitting to her power just felt right. And she gave him freedom to have some private thoughts from her and never moved his body without permission.

_There._

Hans opened his eyes, blinking as they watered. Slowly, his vision stabilized.

“What am I looking at?”

A misty green patch lay ahead of him, shimmering and inconsistent. He blinked and it was gone. But when he blinked again, it returned.

“Død?” Hans asked her, blinking until the path appeared again. “what is this?”

_Follow the living._ The spirit replied.

Straining his eyes to keep the mist in sight, Hans followed what he saw.

His bare feet padded the stone hallways, echoing absently into the rafters. But the cool stone underneath his soles didn’t bother him. He had a certain immunity to cold, up to a point.

The ephemeral, floral-smelling pathway led him down the stairs and across the entrance hall, passing between the library and the entrance to the lower gardens and further into the bowels of the temple. Hans knew the route well but he had to keep stopping and blinking until the path reappeared.

It had been almost a year since the Battle of the Seasons; since he and Scara had returned to these isolated halls of the Temple of the Mother. His first time here, he’d been a prisoner because of his destructive powers. But Scara had reached him across a seemingly endless void and never given up on him, even with her life in the balance. While they had been stuck in Arendelle the previous winter (watching Anna’s pregnancy progress and Anna steely watching them) they had built a bridge of support and understanding in a slow, steady manner. But when the snows melted, they had both seen the time as right to return to isolation in the Temple.

Now, it felt like home.

Still pursuing the fragrant green clouds, Hans crossed into the portion of the temple that he and Scara used for preparing food. As he entered, he heard a familiar voice humming up ahead. Blinking again, he let the haze fade from his vision. He had a feeling he wouldn’t need it again.

“Morning Scara.” He called as he rounded the corner.

He was greeted with a sight that never failed to warm his heart. The young girl wheeled to face him, seeming unsurprised by his appearance. Hans was sure she could sense him more than he could sense her.

Scara was dancing around their table, humming to herself and letting her long blonde hair brush along the table. Her powers were waning as the autumn set in but that never seemed to dampen her spirit.

“Morning!” Scara greeted him, placing an overflowing bowl of fruit on their table. How she found room for it, Hans had no idea.

Hans felt a slight nudge in his mind and opened up the connection between himself and the Goddess of Death. _“Hello my sister.”_ Død said through his mouth. As their voices merged, it produced a timbre that wasn’t quite female but was too high-pitched to be a male voice.

Scara bowed her head slightly and when she spoke, Livet’s airy voice issued from her lips. _“Good morning my twin. Good rest?”_ Her green eyes glowed dazzlingly as Livet spoke through her.

_“Indeed. Although Hans keeps having odd dreams...”_

_“That is to be expected…after all, you two are still coming to terms…”_

Hans was sure that Scara was feeling what he was feeling: the strange, half-forced civility between their two spirits, as if they were both treading lightly on fragile ground. But if Død’s stories were anything to go by, this was a marked improvement over the way the past 114 generations had interacted.

Livet seemed to have nothing more to say, because Scara went back to her previous task of moving food from their counters to the table. Død retreated and Hans took the opportunity to peer over Scara’s shoulder. The table was visibly sagging under the weight of platters of fruit and stacks of fresh-baked breads. Towers of sweetmeats balanced precariously on the edge of the table kept in place only by a strategically placed pitcher of water.

“Scara?” He asked, amused. “What’s all this for?”

Scara beamed at him, positively radiating with glee. “It’s Incarnation Day!” She declared. She twirled away, a small cloud of pollen following the billow of her temple dress.

In his mind, Hans felt Død shake her head. _Of course…_

But the voice in his mind offered no further explanation. “What is that?” Hans asked.

Scara grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her work. “It’s a celebration of the day that the first Guardian came to this place and found the four original hosts as babies! The spirits remember it as the day they fell to Earth.” She picked up a handful of deliciously red strawberries and shoved them into his hand.

Having spent the better part of the last year with Scara and Goren, Hans had heard most of the legends. “Is that something they _like_ to remember…?” He inquired, trying to juggle his fruit and not make it all decay in his hands. It was easy so long as he wasn’t anxious.

Scara shrugged nonchalantly. “Not really. But we always celebrated it like all of our birthdays! Me and Theo and……Garret…” She trailed off, her face clouding. Several small vines clutched at the base of her dress.

Hans hesitated, unsure if he should offer comfort or let this moment be. Scara may have him and Død now, but he could not simply pretend that his presence did not come at the expense of two of the people Scara had loved most.

Placing the strawberries down, he reached out and after a moment’s hesitation, laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. Some of the vines crawling along her dress withered; responding to his emotional instability.

Scara offered him a sad smile but didn’t meet his eyes.

“Do you want to go see Elsa?” Hans tried, “I’m sure she wouldn’t say no to a little celebration.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t drop in on her…” Scara reasoned, looking even further from him. “I’m sure Anna’s had her baby by now…they’re probably busy.”

His heart clenched and a scent of burnt sienna swept through the room. “Well…” He began, swallowing his discomfort, “then we’ll just celebrate ourselves.” He picked up the strawberries again and bit into one, relishing the pure sweetness of a fruit just prepared by the spring host. “What did you and Theo and…Garret used to do?” He was unsure if he had the right to bring up the previous Guardian. After all, he had been the one who killed him.

Scara smiled softly, seemingly unaffected by his relation to her current situation. “We used to come out to my garden…it was harvest time so I’d make sure to grow something extra special…Theo would use the last of her waning powers to make some glass balls and illuminate the courtyard…Garret and Goren would prepare a feast for us and Theo and I would take turns creating new plants and glass sculptures with our powers…Theo would dance with me…”

He could see her making herself sad again. Popping the rest of the berries in his mouth, he took her by the hand. “We’ll just have to make today our own now!” He declared, twirling her. “You and me and Livet and Død.”

Scara beamed but some of her enthusiasm still seemed gone. “Don’t forget Goren.”

“How could I?” Hans muttered, moving to take a slice of bread. “Where is our little friend?”

“Here.” Came a muffled voice from the floor. Hans peered around the table and saw the troll entering the room, curled up in a stone ball. The rock unfolded to reveal Goren, the Temple Librarian and rogue troll who served the Temple and the hosts. Hans had come to think of him with equal parts appreciation and annoyance: sometimes the creature interrupted his time alone with the Spring host.

“I was in the library…” the troll began, waddling forward, “when I remembered what today is.” He smiled at them both. “Happy Incarnation Day!”

Hans bowed slightly to him. Despite his lingering dislike, he had to admit that the troll never showed any particular distaste towards him even with his unconventional arrival to the Temple.

Scara was beaming. “You came all the way from the library to simply wish us that?”

The troll shook his head. “Not quite. I was on my way to inform you of some fortunate timing.” He produced a chart from gods-knew-where and held it up for them to see.

Hans recognized the calculations and renderings of the moon’s cycles.

“Today is the full moon.” He informed them, smiling broadly.

Scara’s eyes widened. “Does that mean…?”

The troll nodded.

Scara wheeled to Hans so fast that he nearly toppled backwards over the table. “It’s the perfect time…” She said, grabbing his arms. “Let’s try again!”

Immediately, Hans’ good mood deflated. “Why do you keep pushing this on me?” He could feel his discomfort starting to affect the food on their table. The last strawberry in his hand withered.

Scara’s eyebrows came down, making her look older. “Because I think it would do you good to see it done.”

_She’s not wrong._ Død put in lightly. _And I’m sure Livet would love to see this done too…_

Scara took his hand. “Now come.”

Hans obeyed quietly, internally marveling at how much pull this girl had with him.

“If Goren says it’s the best time to try, then we should honor this day by trying!” Scara declared, leading Hans and the troll out of the Temple and into one of her innumerable gardens. This one was the main floor courtyard which Hans had discovered the first time he had arrived at the Temple. It mainly contained flowers and ornamental plants but bore the signs of their powers’ occasional unpredictability with a few berry bushes and grapevines crawling about. As they entered, a gust of wind swept through the garden and the mingling scents met them like music from wind-chimes. The plants were glad to see them; both of them.

Scara only let go of him to greet each of her plants with soft caresses and murmured words. “You’re doing so well…! Look at your new leaves! Such a pretty shape! Don’t be like that, without him you’d be four times your size and half as healthy.”

Knowing this last comment was about his dark aura, Hans tucked his hands into his pockets. The chrysanthemums next to him seemed to sigh with relief. He sneered at them.

“Both of you stop it.” Scara chided. “Now come on!” She had chosen a small patch of dirt and squatted next to it.

Hans knelt beside her, resignedly grabbing a fistful of dirt. He glared at it as it dried out from his nervousness.

“Remember, don’t squeeze too hard.” Scara reminded him, some of Livet’s voice already bleeding into her own. “Leave it some air.” The ball of dirt in her hand was looking soft and moist. “Are you ready?”

“Hold on…” Hans closed his eyes and reached out to Død. She joined him, her power seeping slowly out from his core into his skin. _“Alright.”_ The two of them said, as their voices melded.

Scara’s eyes glowed green and she rolled the soil in her hand. _“Now!”_

They joined hands, their contrasting balls of soil mixing together as their fingers groped and molded. Hans felt his powers crackle and felt more than he saw Scara’s bloom in response. The wind picked up again, sparking with electricity. Life and Death clashed momentarily at the infinitesimal space between their joined fingers, the war playing out within the soil they shaped. Slowly, the ball in their hands shrank, hardening, power licking all through it…

“ _…Good!_ ” Abruptly, they both pulled away breaking the connection with the force of pulling two magnets apart.

Panting, Hans felt Død retreat within him again. Briefly, he saw the green mist enveloping Scara again, emanating from her.

“Hans…” Scara gasped, the glow in her eyes fading. “Look!”

On the bare soil between them lay a single, shriveled seed.

Hans grimaced. Well, it was better-looking than the previous attempts’. And it had hurt far less to produce.

Careful not to touch it, Scara scooped a protective cover of dirt over it. Hans moved to help, heaping his own small blanket over their new seed.

“Your concentration was much better that time.” Goren observed, perhaps as a way to remind them both that he was here. “I didn’t see anything new sprout up or die.”

Hans ignored the troll, glancing down at the little mound of soil. “Did it work?”

“We wont know for a few hours…” Scara patted the dirt encouragingly. “Let’s give it time. But I can feel it. This time it’ll be perfect.”

Hans watched her for a moment, drinking in her naïve hope and the aura of _goodness_ that clung persistently to her. He contemplated what she saw when she looked at him. Perhaps his was an aura of darkness? But was that something she needed?

_But,_ he realized as he observed her sadly swirling the dirt, _today she only needs a friend._

He cupped her shoulder. “Come on now.” He said to her gently. “I believe I owe you a dance.”

***

The Temple had no musical instruments but Goren kept a fairly consistent rhythm on several stones on the entrance hall floor. It was a far cry from the parties he had attended but Scara reacted as if it were several holidays all rolled into one so Hans imagined accompaniment to match the beat.

They danced for hours with no concept of the passage of time: whirling and kicking up their feet in Southern Isles’ traditional dances and sending fragrant breezes around the hall in tiny cyclones as Hans dipped and spun the younger host.

“Enough! Enough!” Scara declared after he had done this a dozen times. He lifted her back to her feet and was surprised to feel her fall against him.

“Are you tired?” He asked, trying to peer into her face. Scara giggled and wrapped an arm around his waist.

“No…just…hold me.”

“As you wish my lady.” Hans replied with some of his court swagger.

Goren raised his mossy eyebrow but lowered his head respectfully when Hans glared at him. The troll began a slow, rolling rhythm that they slow-danced along to.

As they moved, her head came to rest against his shoulder. He stiffened but only momentarily. She smelled of pollen and flowers, of freshly-turned earth and sunshine.

Her trust in him was a foreign thing that he often examined with much interest. Women had trusted him blindly before (Anna being the most recent during their ill-conceived engagement) but he had _wanted_ them to. He had all but ensured it with the charming, gentle personality he had cultivated for public appearances. Before Scara, it had been a game for him, women’s emotions.

But he’d never desired for her to trust him. Instead, she had given her trust and merely asked that in return, he never left her.

“Thank you.” Hans uttered, surprised to find her voice speaking in unison with his own. She smiled at him, all trust and bright sunshine.

Hans smiled back. This moment was perfect. Nothing could take this away from him.

There was a knock at the door. All three of them looked up then exchanged uneasy glances.

No one ever knocked. No one came out here…

Hans moved first, gesturing for Scara to stay behind him. She fell in beside him instead, staying quiet but her gaze focused. Goren followed them, for once not rolling but taking ambling, quiet steps.

Hans called to the wood in the door, urging it open slowly. In his free hand, he readied his strongest Breath. His heart thudded loudly in his ears.

If anyone thought they were coming in here for Scara, they’d have to fend off the might of Death itself first.

The visitor walked into the temple with strong, sure steps. They gazed around the entrance hall fondly, marveling at the familiar stones and layout. Then they turned and smiled at the inhabitants.

Scara was the first to react. Springing forward, she tackled the visitor in a crushing embrace. “…Theo!”

The former host of summer hugged her back, spinning the spring host in joyous circles, laughing silently.

“You came for Incarnation Day! You really came!” She sounded overjoyed but abruptly switched to anger (or as close as she could get to anger) when Theo set her down. “Where have you been?!” Scara cried, clinging to the black-haired woman and hitting her with her fists at the same time. “We were all so worried after the Battle, we felt Branna separate from you…then you were just gone! We didn’t know if you were dead or hurt…”

Theo just watched her sympathetically, her face overflowing with love and sorrow.

Hans relaxed, glad in spite of his past to see the raven-haired girl was still alive. That being said, Hans wasn’t entirely sure how to greet the other woman so he hung back, watching Scara animatedly talk, her momentary displeasure with the other woman gradually melting away. After all, the last time he’d seen Theo, they’d both been about to go on a murderous rampage through Arendelle. But the woman before him now was nearly unrecognizable to his one-time accomplice. She was more muscular and her hair was long and sloppily braided down her back. She also seemed…more peaceful. As if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders and it had caused her great happiness.

Død flooded him with her relief but he also caught a hint of caution from the spirit.

“What is it?” He asked under his breath as Scara continued to babble to the woman. _“and Elsa…Elsa! She was so dejected when we couldn’t find you…!”_

_Branna is not present._ Død sounded suspicious. _Theonia should not be alive…_

Immediately, Hans’ suspicions skyrocketed. His fingers twitched, itching to call for his Sword…

But as if she could sense his change in demeanor, Theo turned to him, her ashy eyes locking with his. Scara gasped as Hans felt his muscles lock. His immediate fear was at once washed away by a jolt of familiar electricity running through him.

_The Guardian…_ Even without Død’s affirmation, Hans knew this feeling.

Slowly stepping away from a now immobile Scara, Theo advanced towards him. Her eyes briefly burned a brilliant orange-gold and his powers shivered in response.

The Guardian knelt before him and drew her sword. Deliberately, she sliced a shallow cut into her right thigh and painted his wrist with the blood she drew. He saw her lips moving in soundless oath. Hans shivered violently as she released him from the binding.

Theo then turned to Scara, her eyes flashing green. Kneeling before the spring host, she completed the rite with her, only this time, she cut herself on her right shoulder. As the blood faded from Scara’s skin, the spring host practically vibrated with excitement.

“The Guardian…you’re our new Guardian?”

Theo nodded, sheathing the legendary blade, her joy practically shimmering off of her form.

Scara embraced her again. “I’m so happy for you!!”

“How…?” Silent during the whole rite, Goren had padded up next to Hans and was shaking his head in disbelief. “How is this possible?”

Hans didn’t recognize his statement but for once, it was not out of malice.

Scara pulled back from the hug and traced a scar at the corner of Theo’s mouth. “You’ve bonded to Elsa already, haven’t you?”

Theo blinked slowly, dipping her head in acknowledgment.

“And what of Branna?”

Theo smiled but her expression revealed nothing. She pulled up her left sleeve to reveal another scar. Scara traced it as well, her eyes glistening with tears.

“We feared you were dead.” She said softly. “But Livet didn’t feel you go…” The Guardian’s eyes shone and she stroked Scara cheek reassuringly.

“I saw a new name on Branna’s scroll…Sophie.” Goren interjected. “So there is a new host?”

Theo shook her head but continued to smile and gestured at her lip scar.

“I don’t understand…” The troll said. “What happened to you? Who is Sophie?”

Theo shook her head again and pointed at her lips.

“You can't speak?” Goren guessed, his voice sympathetic.

The Guardian nodded solemnly.

Scara immediately had her by the throat, feeling for illness or injury. “Was it because Branna left you?” She inquired, pressing gently on Theo’s voice box. “I have just the thing! Livet’s been helping me grow some…” But Theo was shaking her head again. The Guardian turned to Goren and began to move her hands in deliberate, flashing motions.

Goren’s eyebrows shot up. “You took a vow of silence.”

Theo nodded, continuing to sign at a rapid pace.

“What is that?” Scara asked, watching Theo’s hands with interest.

“She’s communicating with the silent language of the trolls.” Goren told her, never taking his eyes from Theo’s hands. “She says…”

“Wait!”

Scara dashed off, leaving the boys alone with Theo. Hans stared at her awkwardly.

“Glad to…see you alive?” He tried.

She glared at him but without any real fire.

Hans smiled sheepishly back. “Scara missed you.” He said, trying to sound welcoming.

Theo’s face relaxed with a mixture of relief and sorrow. But at that moment Scara came pelting back into the room, a cloud of pollen accompanying her and Theo cleared her expression.

“Here!” She declared, shoving a piece of parchment and a red quill towards Theo.

The Guardian immediately balked, refusing to touch the crimson pen and eying it distastefully.

_It’s Branna’s Quill._ Død supplied. _Only her host can write with it._

“Only the host of Branna can write with that, Scara.” The troll gently reminded her. “Theo is no longer the host so she cant use it.”

Scara pouted but gently placed the quill and parchment down. “I’ll miss your stories…” She said in a small voice.

Theo spared her a sympathetic glance but then turned back to Goren and began to sign again.

The troll peered at her, mouthing along with the motions. “Theo says that…Branna has…reincarnated?” He paused, puzzled. “What does that mean?”

Hans suddenly recalled that terrifying moment in Arendelle when he had been master of all four seasons, when all of their powers had been tangled and indiscernible. He remembered the feeling of each of them leaving him, especially the hazy exhale that had cast Branna adrift.

“Wait…” All eyes turned to him as he started to piece it together. “Branna did she...? She doesn’t have a host now…does she?”

Theo shook her head, tapping the side of her nose to let him know he was right.

“Is she…?” Goren seemed to be picking up on it as well. “Is this Sophie… _the goddess herself?_ ” He sounded troubled.

“Just like Elsa is Isen?” Scara piped up.

Theo gave a nod of affirmation and Scara nearly squealed with delight. “How wonderful! Another spirit has figured out how to be human!”

“I’m not sure that’s something to celebrate, Scara.” Hans pointed out.

“Why not?” Scara demanded, turning on him hurtfully. “The Daughters came to Earth as punishment. Isn’t several thousand years as disembodied spirits more than enough punishment? They deserve to live free!” Taken aback by her emotional reaction, Hans faltered, unsure how to reassure her.

“I think Hans was more referring to the identity of Branna…” Goren put in helpfully and Hans both wanted to thank and kick him for it. He could defend himself! “If this Sophie is not raised in a welcoming environment,” Goren continued, “she could turn out to be dangerous. So who is it?” Goren turned back to Theo. “Who is this Sophie?”

Theo smirked mischievously and made two brief hand motions.

Goren’s face fell in disbelief. “Wait…wait…really?”

Theo nodded.

“So _Princess Anna’s child_ is the Summer?” Goren declared, seemingly forgetting that Scara and Hans didn’t know that yet.

“WHAT!?” They both cried, in unison with the spirits in their heads.

Theo shook with silent laughter, eying each of them in turn.

Scara rubbed her chin in thought. “What is it about that family?...”

Hans shook his head. Of course. Of course Anna would be the mother of the new spirit. It suited her, a little too perfectly.

“But…” Scara began when the excitement had dimmed somewhat. “What happened to you?”

Theo gestured and the two hosts and the troll followed her through the Temple. They crossed into the garden. Theo found a large expanse of clear dirt and squatted down. 

Tracing in the dirt, she constructed a scene for them. Slowly, with drawings and occasional motions in the troll’s silent language, she told them her story: how she had crawled from Arendelle back to the Temple, how she’d been chosen as the Guardian, how she’d trained for months and then made the journey back to Arendelle and paid for her crimes with the lashings and now her vow of silence.

After some time, Hans sat back on his heels. “That is…that is most impressive.” He’d been whipped once, by his father. It had not been a pleasant experience. 

Theo dipped her head in acknowledgement. She rose slowly but paused, squinting at something across the lengthening shadows in the garden.

“What?” Hans asked, turned around. His eyes widened. “Scara!” He cried, an unfamiliar sense of joy blooming in his chest. “Look!”

In the patch of soil they’d tended earlier, a fragile little sprout was wriggling from the ground.

Scara was next to it in a second, hovering anxiously over the tiny, fast-growing plant. Hans was two steps behind her, his hands well hidden. The magic sprout was still growing furiously, putting out leaves and branching slightly.

“Hans!” Scara snapped at him good-naturedly, “get over here!”

Hans panicked, stepping back. “What? No, I’m not jeopardizing this when it’s doing so well…”

“Don’t be silly!” Scara insisted, tugging him down beside her. “It needs you too!” She held his hands around the tiny sprout, brimming with the confidence he was lacking.

The small plant faltered slightly, slowing its growth. But as they watched, it began to thicken and become a deeper green color.

Hans turned to her and found tears of joy running down Scara’s face. By her expression, he suspected that his eyes were not dry as well.

Theo watched them carefully, her eyes darting between them and the tiny plant.

But, of course, she said nothing.

***

As the evening continued, Theo produced several misshapen lumps of glass from her traveling pouch and presented them ceremonially to Scara. Unperturbed by their appearance, the Spring host merely coaxed one of her trees to hold them aloft where they reflected the light of the torches and shimmered in the breeze.

Goren had arranged several more rocks in a small pile and as he began gently tapping on them, Scara grabbed Theo’s hand and pulled her into a dance. The two spun and stepped, moving in perfect tandem.

Hans watched them dance, trying to tamp down the rising wraith of jealousy within him.

_They did only have each other for most of their lives…_ The voice in his head commented.

Hans sighed. “I know,” he replied quietly, his eyes never leaving the dancing pair. “But she has _us_ now…Theo abandoned her. _I’ve been here!_ ”

He felt his anger flare and the bush next to him wilted entirely. Scara abruptly met his gaze, as if he had shouted his statement instead of muttering it. Her reassuring smile cooled his flaring emotions slightly.

_She can love us both._ Død reasoned. She had flinched from his anger but had not fled from it as she had in the past. _And perhaps anger is not warranted here?_

“I don’t want to be angry…” Hans admitted, his eyebrow rising in jealousy as Theo picked Scara up and spun her effortlessly. “But I’m not very good at this. Theo and I don’t have much to build on.”

_There is something you could offer her…_ Død suggested and Hans was surprised to feel the memory she was urging him to recall.

But he had to admit, it was perfect.

So as Scara left the garden to prepare another meal and Goren rolled away to do Gods-knew-what, he approached the silent Guardian.

“Hey…Theo…”

The woman turned to him, one eyebrow raised in question.

Hans hefted a sword. “Would you care to spar?”

Her other eyebrow joined the first and her eyes darted to the blade.

“It’s not THE Sword, don’t worry.” Hans assured her, mentally berating himself for a mistake this early. “I just thought…since you’re new to the whole Guardian thing…how about a lesson in swordplay?”

Theo’s blade was drawn and defending against his own before he’d even blinked. Her smile was confident. Hans smirked. This could be fun.

“Good reflexes.” He complimented her. “But let’s see how well you handle that blade.”

They crossed blades, each sizing the other up and testing their strength. Hans was impressed; the Guardian matched his pressure quite well, with good control. They sprang apart and their battle began.

Hans had taken lessons in swordplay since he’d been ten. He was considered a fairly skilled master and had bested many of his teachers back in the Isles. But he felt those years of education and practice straining as he faced the Guardian.

Despite her greenness to the sword, she managed to disarm him twice and reach a kill position once. But Hans’ skill persevered and he managed to double his score on her quickly. He tried taunts and feints, anything to throw the Guardian off her game.

He watched for the perfect moment, half of his mind on his parries and strikes, the other on the deepening scowl on Theo’s face…

As a slightly delayed reaction to his strike had the Guardian shaking her head in frustration, Hans made his move.

Catching her blade near the hilt, he forced it down. His free hand simultaneously grabbed her wrist, twisting it so her palm was forced up. As the Guardian retaliated by tilting her sword up and lunging, Hans simply turned his wrist, guiding her sword harmlessly over his head. Before she could react, he turned on his front foot, dragging her by her wrist until they were back to back with Theo’s arm twisted unnaturally over his shoulder. A sharp flex of his arm and she was rolling over his shoulder, slamming painfully onto her stomach in front of him. Her sword clattered uselessly to the ground.

Hans panted, relishing his flawless execution. In the Southern Isles, that move was known as the Gauntlet’s Throw. It was a bit ironic, as one typically threw a gauntlet to initiate a challenge and yet this move was meant to end a duel.

Theo shook herself; her chin looked badly bruised but she had made no sound of pain or even surprise.

“You need to be less in your head.” Hans told her, looking down on her. He poked her sword closer. “Also work on recoveries, both falls and parries; they will literally save your life.”

In one fluid motion, Theo leapt to her feet, sword poised. She gestured, her brows knitted.

“What?”

Theo shook her sword and gestured again. Then she assumed a combat stance.

Now Hans understood her meaning. They locked swords again and he repeated the Gauntlet’s Throw, a little slower this time. Theo watched intently, barely wincing as he threw her to the ground again.

She sprang back up and gestured.

They practiced the move several more times and on the last one, the Guardian surprised him by executing a nearly flawless Throw, using her lower stature and a twist of her hips to send him sprawling painfully.

“Okay…” Hans coughed, picking himself up from the dirt. “I think we’re done…”

Theo smirked triumphantly as she bowed to him and sheathed her sword. She offered him a hand up.

Hans brushed it aside but found himself being gently slapped in return. Sheepishly, he took the offered hand.

“Sorry,” he apologized, rubbing the dirt from his hair. “I’m not used to accepting chivalry from women…”

Theo’s reply was to playfully punch him in the shoulder.

“You’ve certainly lightened up since Arendelle.” He commented, rolling his shoulder. That comment earned him a familiar glare, complete with a guilty twitch of the hands.

“I suppose…I should thank you.” Hans began, once again unsure if he was making a mistake. “We may have done terrible things there but…I much prefer this place I’m in now to where I thought I wanted to be before.”

The Guardian stared at him, an unreadable emotion in her eyes. But he did not sense the judgment he had expected in her gaze. After a moment, she looked away, drawing her arms slightly around herself. The simple change in stance made her look so much older but so much more vulnerable.

Hans held up his hands in a gesture of peace. Here was his one-time partner in crime. He admired her for having such control of her emotions around Scara when she was clearly still tormented by her actions against Elsa’s kingdom. But then again, Scara did make it so easy for one to swallow their pain and live for the moment.

He wondered if every day were like this for her…having all that torment locked inside her where it could pound ceaselessly on your conscious. Unable to even voice her pain, was she slowly dying inside? The way he had been? Did she have someone like Scara, to help her forget and start to forgive herself?

A gentle touch on his arm roused him from his thoughts. Staring deeply into his eyes, Theo began to sign in the troll language again.

“Ummm…” The flashing, fluid motions were meaningless to Hans. “Maybe I should get Goren…” But the Guardian squeezed his arm to stop him from escaping. She took a deep breath, thinking.

She ran a finger over the inlaid patterns in his sleeve that smelled of spice and decay. She glanced at the many flourishing plants in the garden, her eyes lingering on the delicate new flowers opening up on the bush that had sprouted from the magic seed. Then she looked up at him with her eyes unguarded. It was a moment of vulnerability he had never known from the hot-headed former host. Her expression was one of gratitude and peace.

No words were exchanged between them (how could there be?) but Hans understood completely.

“She has been my guiding light through this all.” He told the Guardian. “I will protect her until my last breath.”

Apparently satisfied, the Guardian nodded and together, they made their way back into the temple.

***

As night began to fall, Theo prepared herself for the long trek back to Arendelle.

Hans’ royal upbringing was urging him to offer her the chance to stay the night but the Guardian seemed driven by something and hadn’t even seemed to have considered spending the night.

Theo and Scara had a long goodbye, prolonged by hugs and Scara always remembering some odd thing of Theo’s that she wanted the Guardian to have and scampering off to find it, leaving Hans and Goren to awkwardly wait with the silent guest.

The fourth time Scara did this (returning with Theo’s old red and orange streaked temple dress), Theo finally held up a hand. Her gaze had a firm reproach in it but her eyes expressed her sorrow at needing to leave.

Scara lowered her head. “I know…I just want it to be like it was before…”

Theo lifted her chin and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. As she pulled back, she touched the scar on her lip and made the signal they had come to associate with the name of the Fire Goddess.

“I know…” Scara said sadly. “She needs you now. But that doesn’t mean I won’t miss you.”

The Guardian placed a hand over her right shoulder, over the scar of binding with Scara then slid the same hand over her heart. She then glanced up at Hans and nodded to him. He inclined his head.

Scara smiled. “It’s for her too isn’t it?” She asked softly. “You’re not just staying for Sophie.”

Theo’s gaze darkened slightly, her look became stern. Goren coughed slightly but it sounded more like he was stifling a chortle than clearing his throat.

Scara was undeterred. “I don’t know why you don’t admit it! I’ve seen it since the beginning!” She declared. She gestured blindly behind her. “Even Hans realized it!”

Meeting Theo’s dark gaze, Hans hurried shook his head. He honestly couldn’t care less. But if he had to admit it, Elsa did always seem more emotional around the raven-haired girl.

Theo placed two fingers on her lips, her eyes flashing.

Scara cocked her head, still confused. “What?” She asked, looking to Goren. The troll merely shrugged; he didn’t understand the gesture any more than she did.

Theo repeated the gesture, this time bowing her head slightly. She clenched her left hand.

“OH…” Hans realized, thinking about the scar on her forearm. “It was her, wasn’t it?”

Theo looked at him, her eyes narrowed.

“Elsa’s the one you took the vow for…?”

Theo shook her head and tapped her lips again.

“…Elsa _commanded_ you to take the vow…” Scara realized. Her mouth fell open in horror and she exchanged a glance with Hans. “For how long?”

Theo’s shoulders slumped and she gestured forlornly to Goren.

“…indefinitely…” Goren translated. “…or until Elsa frees her from it…” He regarded the Guardian with sad eyes. “Oh Theo…I am sorry…”

Theo straightened up immediately, standing tall and proud with her hand on the sword. Her intended message was clear. She did not consider it a burden if it helped her fulfill her duties as a Guardian.

Scara rushed forward to embrace her once again, this time seeming more a comforting than a farewell. Theo accepted it, laying her head on Scara’s shoulder. Hans saw her breathe a silent sigh of relief. He felt a smile spread across his face. Part of her inner secret was shared at last. 

“I still think you should tell Elsa how you feel, Theo.” The Spring host insisted as she pulled back.

Theo rolled her eyes and sighed exaggeratedly. Clearly she wished this topic had not been brought up.

Hans laughed and put his arm around the spring host, partially in support and partially to keep her from hugging the Guardian again.

“Let Theo be.” He chastised her. “She can hardly _tell_ Elsa anyway…”

The glare he received for that statement returned a bit of Branna’s fire to the Guardian’s eyes. Hans smirked. He’d missed that.

Scara stepped forward again, smiling gently at Theo. She took the Guardian’s hand and Hans swore he saw her press something into it. “Go.” Scara told her. “We’ll be alright on our own. Go protect Branna and be with your Isen.”

Shaking her head in amusement, Theo drew her in for one last hug. Then she nodded once each to Hans and Goren and turned on her heel.

Their Guardian left them, making the long, lonely trek back to Arendelle alone.

If she had known what was about to happen, she would have stayed. She would have broken her vow to prevent the horrors Spring and Fall were to witness because she had not been there to protect them.

But the seasons were changing and Summer called to her at this time. Fall and Spring would have to wait.


	5. Shadows Fall Part 2

**CHAPTER 2: SHADOWS FALL**   
_Part 2_

**_Kingdom of Arendelle, Winter, 1814_ **

Sophie was sick. And the entire palace was in crisis mode. 

“What do we do?” Anna brushed her sweaty hair out of her face, trembling so badly that both Elsa and Kristoff moved to support her. The three of them gazed worriedly down at Sophie.

The 6-month-old was hot to the touch and moaning and wailing as she thrashed in her bassinet. Her tiny body was giving off roiling heat waves that made even Elsa sweat and gave the room the hazy feel of a hot summer afternoon even in the middle of winter. 

“I don’t know…” Elsa admitted. Her heart ached at the pain her niece was clearly experiencing. She brushed a gentle hand along the infant’s forehead, steam rising where her cold hand met the hot flesh.

Elsa’s own fever on Anna’s birthday was mild compared to this. In retrospect, Elsa was glad that her own illness had only brought hundreds of tiny snowmen to life. Watching Sophie like this was horrible.

They had tried everything: cold compresses (they dried out in minutes), blankets (the last one had caught fire unexpectedly), a willow-bark infusion (Sophie had spat it back up not long after drinking it), Elsa had even conjured ice and placed it right next to her niece’s body in the crib. It had merely melted, then evaporated, making the air thick with moisture. Not even her strongest, most permanent ice had lasted long against the rolling heat pouring from Sophie’s little body. 

“What do we do?” Anna asked again, sounding desperate. Kristoff wrapped an arm around her in support but his body was trembling with exhaustion as well.

“…I know what you’re going to say…” Kristoff began. Both of the sisters turned to him, one anxious, the other merely curious. “But…” he continued, “I really think we should ask…”

Anna’s worry abruptly shifted into anger. “No.” Anna snapped stubbornly. “We’re not letting _her_ in here.”

“Anna,” Elsa reasoned, “she shared a body with her for 20 years…she’s bound to know…”

“I don’t want her near _my daughter!_ ” Anna yelled.

Elsa and Kristoff shared a grimace and cast uneasy glances towards the open door as Gerda bustled back in with more rags. They caught a brief glimpse of black fabric in the doorway but both avoided the piercing gaze of the woman wearing it.

Theo hadn’t moved from her post outside the door since the sunrise of the first day of Sophie’s illness, except for her dark eyes darting between everyone running in and out of the room. On occasion, she would stand in the doorframe, her silent gaze boring into all of them until Anna snapped at her to go away or someone bustled past her.

Her presence was putting everyone on edge. Especially Anna.

“There must be something we can do!” The princess begged. She turned to Gerda as the woman replaced the bone-dry compress on Sophie’s forehead. “Gerda…can’t you…?”

“I’m doing everything I can, Princess Anna.” The old nursemaid replied. The wet cloth she placed on the infant’s head began to steam. “But unfortunately, my expertise is in ailments of non-magical folk, not goddesses.” She bowed respectfully and went back to her work.

Anna turned to Elsa, just as she had two days ago when Sophie had first fallen ill. “Elsa…please.”

Elsa closed her eyes briefly, her own inadequacy hurting her just as much as it had when this had all began. “I’ve searched Anna…” she told her. “I’ve searched through as many memories as I can stand to see at a time. But there was nothing about Branna’s hosts falling ill. I don’t think any of them _could_.”

Anna deflated, her exhaustion evident in her sagging arms and the dark circles under her eyes. “Well then…” She said after a long moment. “Look deeper.”

Elsa was stunned. “What? Back to when we were in the Mother’s Realm?” Her vision swam at even the thought of combing back that far.

Anna nodded. “Yes.” Her face was determined but her bloodshot eyes told Elsa that she was aware of the task she was asking of her sister. “Please Elsa…I wouldn’t ask if we had any other choice…”

Elsa bit her tongue to stop herself from reminding Anna (yet again) that a perfectly viable choice was waiting outside the door, occasionally glaring at all of them. But she knew how that would go. Besides, even if they did ask for Theo’s help, she couldn’t tell them what to do. Not unless Elsa was willing to remove the vow of silence she’d requested of her several months ago. And she wasn’t. Elsa fidgeted, a circle of skin on her right wrist itching uncomfortably. Not yet.

“Theo, what are you…?”

Both of the sisters whirled to Kristoff as they heard him speak.

Evidently having had enough of just watching, Theo had crossed the room while Elsa and Anna had been talking. She was nearly alongside the bassinet containing the wailing infant.

Anna sprang into action, stalking across the floor and placing herself sturdily between the woman and her daughter. 

“You stay away from her!” She snarled at Theo. Sophie’s wails grew louder, evidently upset by the roiling emotions in the room.

“Anna…” Kristoff reached for her, only to be shrugged off.

Theo regarded Anna for a moment with clear contempt in her eyes. She took a measured step to the side, as if to slide around Anna.

The princess bristled. “I mean it!”

Theo’s glare sharpened. Seeing the warning signs flaring in both of them, Elsa quickly put herself in the tiny space between them. She had no desire to see them fight each other. Not because she feared what might happen, mostly because she knew that any fight between them would mostly be one-sided. The Guardian would not dare to raise a finger against Anna.

“Theo…perhaps it is best if you…go outside for awhile.” She told her, a gentle hand pushing her back. 

Theo opened her mouth but caught herself and swallowed her protest silently. Her eyes darted to the bassinet and a desperate look crossed her face. But she didn’t move. 

“Theo…” Elsa repeated, a hint of warning creeping into her voice.

The Guardian’s eyes slowly drifted back to Elsa’s, her feet resolutely grounded in place. Elsa knew that look. She hated that look more each time she saw it.

Elsa closed her eyes, irritation swirling within her from the lack of rest. “I command you to go outside.” She told Theo through gritted teeth. “Go…train or something. Only come back if you’re needed.”

The Guardian met her eyes defiantly. But the action only lasted so long. Her vows held her tightly. So Theo only bowed stiffly and turned on her heel, marching from the room. She made her displeasure known by slamming the door to the nursery loud enough to make them all wince. 

Elsa sighed heavily, turning away. 

“Thank you…” Anna whispered as Elsa walked past her.

Elsa could only nod, her emotions a tightly coiled mass within her. She vented some of them by rebuilding an icy blanket around her niece but the majority of them still remained, the more defiant ones drifting down from the ceiling as thick snowflakes. If Anna or Kristoff realized that her emotions were making it snow, they didn’t comment on it.

Elsa walked over to the window, sitting herself down on the seat to rest for a moment. She hated this. All of it. But she would do whatever she had to to save Sophie. Her gaze was drawn to the courtyard below, where a familiar figure in black was throwing knives at a target so accurately and violently that the wood was splitting down the middle.

She glanced over her shoulder, where Anna was fussing over Sophie as the blanket quickly melted against her hot skin.

_I’m sorry Theo…but we have to do this without you._

She closed her eyes and drifted into her meditative state, blocking out the distressing sounds of her niece whimpering and her sister silently crying as best she could. Perhaps her memories of the world she had come from could indeed provide them with an answer. 

She was shaken from her meditation sometime later as the door to the nursery banged violently open. Not that it mattered. It seemed that (as with the hosts) Branna and herself had been immune to sicknesses in the realm they called home. 

Elsa stood, her vision still hazy and her legs trembling. Fear crept into her heart as she regarded the Guardian in the doorway.

Theo was a woman on a mission now. She brushed Elsa aside as the queen tried to place herself in front of her. She utterly ignored Anna as she snarled and blocked her path to Sophie again. Instead, she turned and regarded the fire blazing in the grate. It had been lit that morning to combat the winter’s chill (and Elsa’s worried breezes) but had not been fed for hours in light of Sophie’s roiling blasts of heat warming the room. Elsa had noticed the flames blazing back to life every once in awhile, usually in tandem with Sophie’s worst fits. Now, the flames burned on nothing but the iron grates and the ashy heap of smoldering logs.

Without hesitation, the Guardian plunged her hand right into this blackened heap. 

“Theo!” Elsa cried, startled and already preparing ice for her hand. What was she thinking?

But the Guardian ignored her. In fact, she barely seemed to feel the fire around her. Slowly, her hand emerged from the ashes. She was gripping the end of a charred log, her face resolutely set upon the small blaze burning on the end.

She turned back towards the startled group, cupping her free hand around the flame to keep it alive. 

Sophie’s tiny form immediately stilled, her face turning towards the Guardian.

Theo stepped forward, carrying the flame with her. It was hard to discern her thoughts from the look on her face but she looked for all intents and purposes as if she were about to set Sophie’s crib on fire.

“Theo…!” Elsa warned, just a second before Anna sprang forward again. Without looking, the Guardian merely side-stepped her assault, sending Anna sprawling on her front. She stopped alongside the crib and to everyone’s surprise, merely extended the torch over the infant, the small flame burning low on the ashy stick.

Sophie inhaled mightily, all of the air in the room whirling about her tiny form. Elsa found herself gasping for breath at the sudden shift. 

The flames on the end of Theo’s torch jumped, tearing away from the wood that sustained them. Carried by the wind, they leapt to Sophie’s form. The girl’s back arched. 

“Sophie!” Anna cried, darting forward, only to find herself caught by the Guardian’s steady arm. They all watched in shock as the flames danced along the child’s skin. Not hurting her, merely touching her. 

Sophie inhaled again and the flames jumped into her mouth, vanishing inside her. Her chest and stomach glowed with the heat.

In a blaze of motion, Theo jabbed the girl pointedly on her left elbow and right shoulder. The crippling heat in the room broke so suddenly that the hairs on everyone’s arms stood on end. The fire in the grate abruptly vanished. Sophie fell limp, the fire still glowing inside her.

Anna was clearly stunned. “…Sophie…” Theo allowed Anna to step forward then, backing away with her head bowed. Elsa, Kristoff, and Gerda stepped up as well, peering anxiously at their little charge. 

The child was sleeping peacefully, more content than she had been since she’d been born. Kristoff placed a gentle hand on her forehead and his brow furrowed in confusion, then relief. 

“Her fever’s broken…” He choked out, stroking his daughter’s face. “She feels…normal.”

Elsa breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, The…” The gratitude died in her throat as she turned to find the Guardian absent from the room.

While they’d all been checking on Sophie, the Guardian had tossed the spent log back into the grate and left them.

***

**_Somewhere in the mountains, Mid-winter, 1819_ **

“Hans?”

Taking the last bite of his apple, Hans tapped it gently and it disintegrated into dirt. With a flick of his wrist, a breeze carried the small pile of dirt out of the library, dancing its way to the garden. He hardly had to focus on it anymore.

Instead, all of his attention was on the old scroll of scriptures he’d dug out of the recesses of the Temple library. He was utterly transfixed. But the approach of his Twin — namely the aura of life that surrounded her in all directions — was slowly washing his stupor away.

“Hans!” Scara called again, gliding into the library. “It’s a beautiful day! Wont you come check on the snowdrops with me? They should be blooming by now.”

His concentration well broken now, Hans looked up, squinting at her as his tired eyes adjusted. “In a moment.” He replied, smiling at his companion. He lifted the scroll slightly so she could see it. “This is quite a captivating read.”

“Which generation is it today?” Scara asked, perching herself on the table next to him. With spring approaching, her body radiated a warm glow and small clouds of pollen burst from her unexpectedly. Her hair was always moving in a non-existent wind. Hans no longer stared at such beauty and liberation. Instead, it was just natural to him.

“I found Asa’s Scriptures.” Hans replied, rubbing his eyes as he pushed the scroll towards her. “She was somewhere in the 30’s, right?”

“34.” Scara replied automatically, peering down at the ancient words. Her eyes lit up as she scanned the words. “Head Councilor Asa, host of Branna. Then there was Lydia as host of Isen, Lillian as host of Livet, and your predecessor was Annette. Their Guardian, Albinus the Youthful died defending them from wolves when he was only 14… so they were left alone for much of their teenage and adult years.” She ran a finger down the scroll but paused as something else occurred to her. “That was the generation that saw the first blind winter host since Ileana!”

“Why does that matter?” Hans asked, stretching out his back.

“Isen herself was blind, remember?” Scara replied, flicking him gently in the forehead. “Her hosts that were also blind had stronger gifts of Sight.”

Rubbing his forehead, Hans smiled fondly at her. She was always quizzing him on Temple history. “I didn’t know such conditions offered a host more power. Did the more mentally unstable hosts of Autumn have more power too?”

That one earned him a flick inside the head from Død.

_Watch it. I was…going through a difficult time._

Scara covered her giggles as she watched Hans grimace. “No.” She admitted. “Isen’s hosts were the only one with such a power. But only three have ever existed and they all wrote verses of prophecy!” She pushed the scroll back to him, unrolling it further. “There was one in particular…Lydia’s Verse about the Orb of Ash.” She frowned and glanced around them. “I thought it was in this scroll…maybe it was in her second volume?”

The Temple library was so vast and broad that Hans could spend days lost in here. Sometimes he did. In the dead of winter when there was nowhere to go and his powers were waning, he often ended up here, lost in the history of his new family that he had once only had scraps of back in the Isles. There was a lot to absorb but the past few years had given him a good start.

“Tell me the story.” Hans encouraged Scara, nudging the scroll her way. “What was the Ashy Orb?”

Scara poked him for his silliness. “Theo told me the story once.” She recalled, scanning the document. Her frown deepened as she failed to find the story in question. “In it, Død’s host falls in love…”

Now Hans was really intrigued. “Really? Which generation?”

“It was Kaya, Autumn’s first host actually.” Scara replied, flipping the scroll over to be certain the story was not on it. “She traveled a lot and on her adventures, she met a prince from a faraway land who was searching for an artifact. And even though they couldn’t touch, they fell in love.”

“What happened?” He pushed the scroll forward, trying to encourage Scara to stop paraphrasing the story and just tell it. But Scara had a terrible habit of short-handing legends, even when they were printed right in front of her.

“Oh, she accidentally killed him.” She said off-handedly, starting to roll the scroll back up.

Hans’ good mood dampened. “I don’t think that story is going to make me feel better Scara…”

Scara shrugged. “Sorry. It’s hard to remember if Død’s hosts had any happy stories. Død is kind of a…magnet for misery…” She offered him a sympathetic grimace. 

In his head, Hans felt the spirit mournfully agree. Flashes of previous hosts accidentally or intentionally killing lovers, friends, and family in fits of passion and rage danced at the edge of his consciousness. It seemed to happen pretty often for a host who was supposed to be isolated from the world.

_I get…restless._ Død admitted. _My hosts are prone to…adventure and risk. Defiance. And some never even make it to the Temple…_

Recalling his own long, twisted journey to the Temple, Hans shared his sympathy with Død and turned back to Scara.

“What was he searching for?” Hans asked, recalling the details Scara had told him. “The prince, what artifact was he after?”

“ _Verdener_.” Scara voiced immediately, part of Livet’s voice in her own.

Hans felt Død recognize the word but she offered no meaning. “What’s that?”

“’Sight across worlds.’” Scara cryptically replied, waving her hands in front of her face.

Hans raised an eyebrow at her display. “I don’t know what that means…”

“It was said to be a way to see back into the Mother’s Realm.” Scara said, lowering her voice dramatically. “But it wouldn’t let any of them touch it so they could use it!”

Now Hans really wished she’d just read him the whole story. “So where is it? What happened to it?”

“How should I know?” Scara asked, dropping the theatrical quality to her voice. “It was in the first generation.” She turned away, as if that were the end of the matter.

But for Hans, being denied the ending of his story was the last straw. “Does Livet know? Or Død? That can’t be the end of the story! Why won’t you just read it?” He was pleading now, like a child left on a cliffhanger during a bedtime story.

Scara turned to him, a sad smile dancing across her face. “Livet hates that story.” She replied simply. “It reminds her too much of the futility of trying to return home.”

Guilt swept through Hans. “I…I’m sorry.” He lowered his head. “I…” It occurred to him that he’d never gauged Død’s reaction to the tale.

“Død?”

She was quiet but he felt her melancholy thoughts in his mind: _whispers of passion, a wickedly sharp shard of star-steel, a glassy ball turning black, cries of agony and destitution…_

Hans waited, knowing that the emotional spirit would answer him in her own time.

_We don’t know where the Orb is._ Død finally whispered inside Han’s head. Hans repeated it out loud for Scara’s benefit. _Bartholomew took it and hid it someplace only he knew. He did not want Kaya to be reminded…of her loss. Then he died saving Kaya from my overstep less than a year later._

Hans felt the memory, the anguish of Kaya losing the prince she had called her lover then the tortuous ecstasy of the spirit taking over her flesh entirely, if only for a moment...

He shivered. Casting about for a less depressing change of topic, his eyes fell on a book he’d found cast on the floor in the bowels of the library. This one was much older, containing scriptures from Erin, the first host of Branna.

“Who were the other prophets?” He asked, not caring who answered.

“Well, there was Gabrielle in Generation 70…” Scara recalled, her eyes being drawn to the book as well. “But she mostly predicted things in that generation’s lifetime like floods and famines and wars…then there was Ileana of course. And hers were mostly about the threat of persecution from the outside world.”

Hans pulled the old book towards him, blowing dust from the cover. “Are there any in here?”

Scara frowned, pulling the tome towards her to better read the runes on the cover. “Maybe.” She said, tracing a symbol with her finger. “This is what we call one of Erin’s _Frantic Musings_. She wrote these towards the end of her life when the spirits didn’t yet know that they would have future hosts.”

They cracked the book open and found the text littered with heavy annotations and editing marks. Some sections were entirely blacked out and others were scrawled untidily in margins in cramped handwriting one could barely read.

“Not a very neat writer, was she?” Hans remarked, peering at a written word inscribed in letters the width of a pin.

“She was nearly mad.” Scara reminded him. “She thought she had to record all of history in what little time she had left.”

“Well, she could have recorded it neater.” He retorted, rotating the page so he could peer at it more closely. “Does that say ‘damned’ or ‘darned’?”

“Neither,” Scara shot back, “it says…’erased’.”

“How are you getting that from these letters?”

They turned the page, still chuckling and both froze at the sight of what came next.

Like the others, it was littered with sloppy handwriting, but this time, a grand heading across the top of the page declared the legend they were about to read.

**_The Twins: The Warrior and the Healer_ **

“Great Mother…” Scara murmured, leaning closer. “This is it. The story of the War.”

The names of Død and Livet appeared frequently throughout the text, along with Isen’s and Branna’s. Hans read quickly but efficiently, learning a past that he’d dared not imagine. He read of Død’s difficult childhood and her reliance on Isen to contain her gift. He read of her leaving after Isen froze herself under the ocean and of how Livet had stalked her across the Realms. He felt the spirit inside his head mournfully trying to pull away from the words but he could not stop reading them. Finally, he came to a particular passage that stopped him cold:

_“Deep in the heart of a volcano, using her sister’s Lonely tears and her own blood to cool the star-steel, Død let her magic and the magic of the Darkness flood into the weapon. The result was a blade so poisonous, only she could hold it. Tainted as it had been in her blood, it turned its magic on all but her.”_

Here it was. He swallowed hard and kept reading, turning those words over in his head again and again.

Scara finished before he did and leaned back, her face in her hands. Hans finished the story and quickly realized the line that had her so upset:

_“The Twins were forever separated so that their powers could not clash again and throw the world out of balance. The Lovers were forced apart to keep the world at peace.”_

“This is wrong…” Scara moaned, tugging her hair.

He reached out for her, laying a comforting hand on her head. “Scara, I know Død did some terrible things in the past…”

“No!” She shouted, shaking his hand free. “This legend! It’s wrong!”

“What?” But then he felt a flicker of realization from Død.

_The Tree…I…_ she seemed even more distraught than Scara. _I_ forgot _about the tree._

Scara was rocking back and forth, small chilled breezes buffeting her hair and dress. “How could we forget a life like that?” She cried, tears falling freely down her face. “How could we have forgotten why we were banished?”

_Why_ I _was banished_. Død whispered for Hans’ ears only.

“This isn’t the same legend Theo told me.” Scara gasped, tiny vines encircling her throat. “She never mentioned this…any of it. We thought the creation of the sword was enough for Død’s banishment…!”

Hans was struggling desperately to keep calm. “Scara it’s alright.” He soothed, reaching up to touch the vines choking her. They crumbled under his power and he rubbed her arm. “So there’s another version of the legend. It happens, people have different interpretations…”

“Not us.” She replied instantly. “These are their _memories_ Hans. This is all they have left of home. If this is wrong…” She did not finish the sentence, the implications were too terrible to voice.

Hans turned back to the book, intent on closing it so they could put this whole thing behind them. But as he lifted the page, something caught his eye.

In retrospect, he did not understand how it had not been the first thing his eye had been drawn to. While the entire page was covered in Erin’s hurried, untidy mess of words, this passage was as neat and clean as printed text. Crammed at the bottom of the page, it looked more like a post-script than part of the actual legend.

“Scara…” Hans called, pulling the book closer again. “What is this?”

Still trying to control her tears, Scara leaned forward again to read. The words were tight and clear:

**__**

**_Winter comes first, as in eons of old,_ **

**_Summer reborn, her eyes rich as gold._ **

**_Spring and Fall linger, not yet risen,_ **

**_Stuck by devotion, kept in their prisons._ **

**_Memory is fickle, legends fade and change,_ **

**_Giving life to a story so ancient and strange._ **

**_The Orb waits in silence, guarding its power._ **

**_A new future realized at just the right hour._ **

**_Beware the man with no love in his eyes,_ **

**_His life alone is the fulcrum of the cycle’s demise._ **

**_The Darkness descends, corrupting Light newly grown,_ **

**_The Mother’s sorrow is realized; there is no way home._ **

**_The Relics shatter, the Guardian is erased,_ **

**_Quills of old edit the moonlit staircase._ **

**_The Battle for all, can be fought only by one,_ **

**_The War never ended. It has only begun.  
_ **

As he finished reading, Hans felt as if something had shifted in the world. Something had upended the safety and security he had felt only moments ago and now, they drifted in a world of uncertainty.

“Erin didn’t write this…” Scara realized slowly. Her eyes widened. “ _Ileana_ did…”

His hand snaked its way across the table to hold hers. “It’s a prophecy?” Hans realized. “What does it mean?”

“I…I don’t know…” Scara admitted, looking distraught. She squeezed his hand tightly. “We never interpreted them, that was all Branna and Isen…”

They read the words again, perhaps hoping that the spirits would offer some insight. But neither one did. Hans just felt Død repeat the phrase over and over in his head: **_Spring and Fall linger, not yet risen, Stuck by devotion, kept in their prisons._**

She seemed to be mulling over the words, certain that they meant something important but unable to recall or discern what. And that terrified her.

Scara was muttering to herself, her form beginning to rock back and forth again. “Theo would know…she’d know…” she murmured, almost like a prayer.

“Well then, let’s go see her.” Hans declared, breaking the tense atmosphere in the room.

Scara gazed at him, half hopeful, half skeptical. “What? Travel to Arendelle and ask her about this legend?”

Hans shrugged. “Why not?” Grabbing a spare scroll, he laboriously copied the words, ensuring that every single one was perfect.

“Now,” he said, rolling up the passage and tucking it into his tunic. “Let’s go pack. We can leave as soon as we’re ready.” He was already mentally preparing the things he would need for a three-day walk in the snow.

Scara didn’t move. She trembled as she looked up at him. “Hans…” she said quietly. “I’m afraid.”

Pausing in his thoughts, Hans devoted all of his attention to her. Scara was drawn in on herself, hugging herself tightly. The pollen clouds around her shivered as they floated in the sky. Her eyes darted around, seeking some form of comfort. He’d never seen her this spooked before, this utterly lost and scared. Although they were both already well into adulthood, he often forgot how much younger than him she was and how little of the world she’d seen.

Stepping forward, Hans drew her into his arms. She did not relax against him but she did not pull away.

“It’ll be alright.” He told her, stroking her hair. His own certainty seemed only to agitate her more.

“This is wrong, Hans.” She said again and he knew she wasn’t talking about the hug. “Something here is very wrong.”

He pushed her back gently so he could look in her eyes. “We’re going to fix it.” He promised, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. “We’re going to find out what this is and deal with it all together. You and me and Elsa and Theo and Sophie. Nothing can overcome us if we’re all together.”

Scara nodded but still looked unconvinced. Hans kissed her gently on the forehead, briefly opening up a mental connection between Død and Livet. _We will always be together._

The touch made the spring host soften and she finally relaxed against him.

“Alright.” She pulled away slowly, taking his hand. “I’ll get our bags packed and scrounge up some food. Meet you in the entrance hall.” She left the library, her steps solemn and heavy.

Hans couldn’t help comparing her gait to that of one condemned to the gallows.

***

Leaving Scara to her packing, Hans descended into the depths of the Temple. His route took him through several false doors and along a corridor that ran the entire width of building’s base. It was all a ploy to make sure that Scara could not easily follow him. In all the time that they’d been living here alone, she’d never once stalked him down here. But he lived in constant fear that she would.

Reaching the end of the corridor, Hans turned right and ran up a small flight of stairs. He reached a stone wall, shear and unmarked. Laying his hand against it, he called the dregs of his waning power to his skin. The wall shivered and several of the stones shook loose, leaving a large enough space that he could wriggle into the opening.

As he cleared the hole, Hans gazed around his secret place. It was a small room with no windows and no natural light. Darkness pervaded here. The ceiling was low enough that he could touch it without even fully extending his arm and the floor underfoot was more of the cold hard stone from the wall. It almost felt like a prison cell. And in a way, it was.

He’d found this room his first week at the Temple. It had called to him, rousing him from sleep late one night. He’d followed a sharp scent of cinnamon and decay and stumbled into this chamber. He had no idea what it was or why it was here. That was part of the reason he kept reading old legends, hoping that one other host of Autumn had found this place and dictated a purpose for it. But so far none had presented itself. So he had assigned it a purpose.

Hans advanced slowly, feeling the magnetic pull of the only object in the room. Død felt it too, but she only curled tighter inside of him, trusting his form to restrain her from the temptation of her urge.

Death’s Sword lay innocently against the back wall, propped up only by its sharp edge wedged into a crack in the floor. It had lain there for years, untouched by Hans. Out of sight but, unfortunately, never out of reach. Such was the curse of Autumn’s host. The others had their objects as separate from themselves: they may be able to use them but theirs were not always just a thought away. Autumn’s lived within her and she had but to reach for it for it to appear in her hand.

Hans shuddered as he felt the aura of the blade wash over him. It began to glow as it sensed his presence. His hand twitched but he forced himself to not draw on his powers. He would not succumb to that again. Summoning that sword had harmed so many and driven him down a dark path that almost killed the person who mattered most to him. It had erased his soul and replaced it with pure agony.

The sword had a will of its own and sometimes it could overtake him. Even Død was not immune to its great power. It certainly explained why he’d been in such turmoil those few months after he first summoned it and it never left his side. The temptation had been too great for a broken, angry Hans, desperate for revenge on both Arendelle and the brothers who had tormented him. He’d let it control him in exchange for power.

Hans took a deep breath and took a small step closer. The blade had no physical change but he swore he could feel the pommel in his empty hand once again. He shook his arm to relieve it of the feeling. After their return all those years ago, he’d tried to banish the sword back to that other realm he’d pulled it from. But it refused to leave him. It had sat heavily in his hand, a permanent, mocking reminder of his former foolishness and weakness.

With a grim smile, Hans leaned down to examine the sword more closely. The hairline fracture along the length of the sword flashed at him. It had been there since the sword had reformed after Anna had shattered it protecting her sister. He had never understood why. He’d never found the missing shard.

There was much about this weapon no one understood, not even Død. And the library wasn’t proving to be much help. So nowadays he kept it sealed away in this room of the Temple, waiting for him like a bad dream in the corner of his mind. But it was out of everyday temptation.

Reading about the creation of the blade in the book had brought the sword roaring back into Hans’ consciousness. He may not like it. But it was his.

Død finally spoke, her voice soft in his mind. _You are thinking of taking it._

Hans sighed, leaning back. “We don’t know what we will be facing…” He reasoned. “If this prophecy is as dangerous as Ileana predicted, it would be a vital asset.”

Død shuffled uneasily in his head. _Still, we need to weigh the risk of us not having it against the risk of it consuming us again._

“I know.” Hans agreed. “But I am better now…perhaps it wouldn’t be as strong?”

Død did not seem as confident. _I prefer not to risk it. That was one of the darkest times of my existence, right up there with the many, many times my hosts have been murdered by mobs._

“Thanks for that…” Hans muttered, an angry breeze ruffling his hair.

_The others are safe from it if it is here._ Død reasoned, _and we can summon it if the need is undeniable. But here it should stay. Livet and Scara would never forgive us if they knew we were hiding this._

Hans sighed. Part of him wanted to argue for its utility. But that same part of him feared what he would do once the power was back in his hands. Død was right. They would only be gone a few days…and then he’d tell her it was here. Here, it was safe; from both him and the rest of the world.

He left the chamber, the wall sealing itself with a thought from him. The sword sat alone, glinting and awaiting the moment when it would once again be needed. The narrow sliver of missing star-steel shone hungrily in the darkness.

***

Even with the Temple’s size and small population, news traveled fast between the inhabitants. So it surprised neither Hans nor Scara that Goren rolled into the room as they were making their final preparations, absolutely livid.

“What is this I hear about you two leaving?” He demanded, wriggling himself up into a standing position.

Hans sheathed the ordinary sword he’d picked from the Guardian’s weapons stash before answering. “We have to see Theo.” He told the troll. “Something has come up.” Even after nearly 6 years, he still didn’t like the troll very much. But there was no getting rid of him so he tolerated him. 

“I’d appreciate if you’d tell me what it is.” The scholar replied, looking between them reproachfully. “We trolls are quite wise you know, maybe I could offer some assistance before you two go gallivanting off in the snow.”

Scara didn’t look at the troll but lowered her head in shame. Hans glanced between them before accepting that she wasn’t going to speak about the passage. He crossed the room and handed over his copy of the passage, letting the ancient words explain all.

The troll was silent as he read the prophecy. After he finished, he lowered the scroll.

“Where did you get this?” He demanded, his voice shaking.

“One of Erin’s old books.” Hans replied, hefting his pack. “Ileana had written it along the bottom of a passage about how the spirits were banished.” He glanced at the troll. “Why? Do you know what it means?”

“I’ve never seen this passage before…” Goren said, examining the words once more. “My father…or Grand Pabbie…but…” He shook his head, the action making his whole body shiver. “I…I’m sorry but…I don’t know what this is.”

Hans nodded. “That’s what we thought.”

“Theo was Branna’s host once.” Scara spoke up softly. Her pack was already on her shoulders and she was gently brushing the bud of a lily she had grown out of the hall table. “She remembers all the legends and prophecies as well as Branna’s knowledge of them. And Elsa has all of Isen’s memories and her Mirror…”

“That’s why we’re leaving.” Hans finished. “To find the people who can tell us what this all means.”

The troll glanced back and forth again, as if trying to decide which of them he could convince more easily.

“But you cant just leave! Don’t you realize what this could mean?” Goren pleaded, his gaze set on Scara. “This is one of Ileana’s prophecies. Hers had a very unfortunate tendency of being true.”

“I’m not hearing an argument for us to not go.” Hans deadpanned. “Those words are pretty devastating. I’m no scholar, but I think we can see that this is important enough for an expert.”

This only seemed to enrage the creature further. “So you’re just going to run off with no protection in the middle of winter?”

“Yes.” Hans replied. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

Goren stomped his feet, the action rocking his whole body back and forth. “I don’t think you two comprehend the depth of danger here. This could mean the return of the…”

He was cut off by a knock at the door. All three of them looked up in surprise.

“Were we expecting Theo?” Hans asked, racking his brain.

Goren shrugged. “Are we ever?”

Scara rushed to the door, pulling it open. “Theo?”

But it wasn’t the Guardian.

Scara backed away as quickly as she could, gripping Hans’ arm for reassurance. Hans let his pack slip to the ground as the man entered.

The stranger who strode in took in the Temple with dark eyes and a disgusted look on his face. When his gaze fell on Hans and Scara he glared.

“So this is where you’ve been hidden away.” He was clad in Sami clothing that was caked with frost. Black hair poked out from under his cap and muscles bulged in his arms and legs. Two small swords were sheathed at his hips. Across his back was a crossbow.

Hans shifted, putting himself between Scara and the newcomer. “How did you find this place?” He demanded. “None but us are permitted!”

But the stranger seemed disinterested in what Hans was saying. For all his expression revealed, he hadn’t even heard him.

“I’d prefer if we did this quietly and calmly.” He stated, barely concealed anger in his voice. He locked gazes with Goren and glared. “No need to get your Protector involved.”

Scara bristled at that. “Who are you?” She shouted, her hair snapping in a sudden wind. “Why are you here?”

The man regarded her powers with thinly-concealed distain. “I’m here for you both, children of the Mother.”

Goren shuddered at that and rolled himself back into an archway. The man ignored him.

He stretched out his hands. “Now come.” He demanded, as if they were petulant children.

Hans’ weapon was in his hand in an instant. “Maybe you don’t know this…” He snarled, his heart thumping loudly in his ears. “But we are the Twins. And no one, least of all impotent wretches like you threatens us.” He was all confidence in his voice but inwardly, he knew it was just bluster. He was terrified.

“Your fear betrays you.” The man replied, his eyes narrowing. “You are more terrified of me than you are of your Sword.” From the way he said it, Hans knew he wasn’t referring to the blade in his hand. “But if you refuse to come quietly, this could get very messy.”

“You won’t best me in a fight.” Hans bragged, squashing down his fear. “I’ve trained since birth.”

“I wasn’t referring to you.” The man said in a low voice. He made no move towards his weapons but his eyes shifted to Scara.

That was the breaking point for Hans. With a yell, he slashed forward, going straight for the kill but the man merely side-stepped him, his eyes flashing as the sword swung harmlessly through the air.

Scara was on him immediately, her vines and roots shooting up through the cracks in the stone and reaching for the intruder’s boots and arms. But no matter how many she sent, he evaded them all, moving like a shadow across the hall.

Hans recovered himself, blowing mightily so that hundreds of dead leaves scattered across the floor. The intruder slipped and slid, having more trouble evading the vines.

Hans stumbled slightly as the effort dizzied him. He was waning. Too much effort would weaken him.

He readied his blade again but a discomfort in his mind gave him pause.

_“What is it?”_ Hans asked Død, inside their shared mind.

The spirit was curled inward like a cat, eyes darting as if trying to read something. _There’s something…familiar about him…_

Hans and Død watched him for a moment, seeing him jump, flip, and dodge four vines at once. So far, nothing Scara had tried had so much as touched him. _“A good familiar?”_

The spirit shuddered. _Bad. Very bad. Be careful._

Feeling the depth of the spirit’s concern, Hans took her words to heart.

He made eye contact with Scara and she nodded to him. Several of her vines changed direction and headed for him. They lifted him high and whipped him towards the intruder.

Hans held back his gift, letting the living vine hurl him at their opponent. He could feel Scara and himself moving in perfect sync, waiting for the right moment.

He collided with their adversary shoulder-first, tipping him forward. Scara’s vine was immediately around the man’s ankles, holding him tight. With little more than a thought, Hans hardened the flexible green vine into a thick hard constraint. His hand grabbed for the other man’s glove.

Pulling out his flawless Gauntlet’s Throw, Hans side-stepped the intruder, pulling him closer instead of throwing him. The man’s neck was exposed, this was it…  
He grabbed him by the throat, uneven stubble scraping along his fingertips. His power was brimming in his skin, on his Breath. He felt the throat under his expand with its final inhale…

…then contract with an exhale. “You would kill me?” The throat in his grip asked, appalled. “You would deem yourself judge, jury, and executioner?”

Those eyes still stared at him, unchanged. The intruder was still alive.

“What?” Hans could feel the Breath all around him, sinking into the man’s flesh. But instead of killing him, it just vanished into his skin.

With a careless brush, the man snapped Hans’ hand away from his throat. The force was enough to send a ripple of pain through Hans’ arm. He staggered back, cradling his hand.

“Who are you?” He cried, his sword clattering to the floor.

The intruder stared back, a flicker of anger in his dark, dark eyes. Twisting himself, he effortlessly broke the restraints around his feet. One hand reached for his crossbow, smoothly drawing it from his back. “I am His Retribution, Autumn. I have come to collect your debt.” The chill in his tone made Hans’ mind immediately jump to call his Sword. Scara would forgive him…she had to…stretching out his injured hand, he called to the Blade…leaves began to swirl…

But before the sword formed, the man grabbed Hans by the throat. He effortlessly lifted him off his feet. His eyes blazed with passionate hate.

“I feel no pain, for He is my shield.” He declared, as Hans struggled for breath, focusing on the leaves near his hand. They crawled slowly…far too slowly. “I have no fear. For in death I will serve Him better than I could in life.”

Scara was crying out, he could see her vines coming, trying to attack. But his own fear was killing them before they could reach him. Without looking, the man fired his bolt.

There was a scream of pain followed by a rush of sensation along their connection. Hans let out a garbled yell, trying to see who had been shot, himself or Scara…

Unfazed, the intruder reached up with a single finger and tapped the center of Hans’ forehead. A vibration like the chiming of a bell rang through his whole body.

Hans went limp, feeling Død’s horrified shriek abruptly cut off inside his head. His mind was silent, empty. He couldn’t _feel_ her anymore…

The leaves circling him disintegrated into dust. He hit the floor hard, his body heavy and unresponsive. He heard Scara’s cry and Goren’s panicked yell.

Then, it was only darkness.

***

**_Province of Weselton, Spring, 1815_ **

The fire hissed as Morten pumped the bellows. He had already removed his shirt but sweat still poured profusely off of him. He wouldn’t have minded except for the fact that he was conscious of every drop of bodily fluid that spilled onto the floor. He’d probably have his pay docked for each blemish left behind…knowing the Duke.

The State Forge of the Province of Weselton was the best known in the region. Previous dukes had poured countless resources into this building: blackstone from the Southern Isles, Melonian-quarried white marble, oak timbers from Arendelle, and iron from the nation of Corona. All of it was in the interest of propping up the then-fledgling ironworks industry of the province. In the decades since, various masters had come and gone, leaving glorious weapons and metal utensils of all makes behind and streaks of soot coating every Arendellian beam in the room and ceiling.

Nothing was permitted on the floor though.

“Henrik!” He bellowed, mopping his brow with his discarded shirt. “Boy! Bring the rags!!”

A small, dirty form scampered into the room, looking out of place among all the white marble. He was a young lad, perhaps only eight and clearly plucked from the streets. Next to Morten’s muscular build, the child was a twig. He clutched a small wad of rags in his fist.

Morten pointed at the drips of sweat on the floor. “Get to it boy! And don’t leave the floor soaked. If I trip with a bucket of molten metal, it’s your face that’ll show it!”

The boy glared at him but kept quiet. Kneeling, he set to work scrubbing at the marble. It wasn’t a glamorous job. But a job was a job. And this street rat was lucky to have been trusted with this. Morten would have refused to even work with the child. But something about the boy reminded him of his first apprentice, now set up with his own shop in Melonia. Perhaps he could make something of this boy as well.

As the urchin slowly wiped at the floor, Morten crossed the forge to the cooling area. He briefly dipped his hand into his bucket of water and rubbed his face and neck. It did little to help with the heat but it washed off some of that sweat. As he dried himself with his shirt, his eyes fell on the package.

Suddenly apprehensive, Morten tossed his shirt over a beam and crossed to the table. It had been delivered this morning by the Duke’s valet himself, a man with more nose hairs than sense and had been left untouched since. Normally, Morten was an efficient and orderly man with his forge. But this tiny package had stopped him in his tracks. He could swear it _wanted_ him to unwrap it. And that unsettling feeling had been enough to keep him well away from it all morning.

But his obligation pulled at him and so, he reached out and touched the ties on the package. Immediately, all the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and goosebumps covered every inch of his skin. He took an involuntary step backwards and crossed himself.

The boy glanced up but seemed uninterested.

Steeling himself, Morten reached out again and this time, managed to push down his discomfort long enough to undo the wrapping. Another violent shiver rippled through him as the wrapping fell away and he pulled his hands back as if the string were a viper.

Sitting innocently on the wrapping, was a tiny sliver of metal.

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

Tilting his head, Morten examined the metal slowly. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever seen before. It didn’t have the luster of Corona iron or the tell-tale shine of Weselton steel. It seemed to shimmer with its own light, absorbing the torch and firelight and spitting it back out in its own glimmering display. There was almost a red tint to the glow, as if it were sitting on a bed of embers.

Curious, Morten picked up his smallest hammer, meant for testing his raw materials. Holding it delicately, he gently tapped once on the shard.

The metal reacted like he’d struck it full-force. An enormous spark leapt high into the air and a sound like swords clashing rang through the forge.

The boy looked up, sneering but now somewhat interested.

Morten panted as he lowered his hammer, cradling his throbbing arm. The reactionary force of the metal had thrown a shockwave up his arm that had forced it back as far as it could go. Glancing at his hammer, he saw the head had melted inward from the point of impact, turning it from a hammer into a poorly-constructed meat tenderizer.

“What?” He murmured to himself, peering down at the shard again. It appeared unchanged except for a stronger glow emanating from the metal.  
Morten shuddered again. “What in God’s name?”

“Master Morten!” The voice startled both the blacksmith and the boy (who had crept up behind him to stare at the shard himself). The boy leapt back and melted into the shadows, scrubbing at the floor like it was his life’s ambition. Morten picked up a long iron rod and shoved it into the forge, but it was more from aversion than necessity.

He turned to his visitors slowly, his stomach already knotting. “Evening, Your Grace.” He dropped his ruined hammer on the table, subconsciously wishing he’d pulled his shirt back on.

The men addressing him strolled in like they owned the place. But then again, one of them technically did.

The Duke of Weselton was often called “a rat-faced bastard” in the ale houses, particularly during tax season or wartime. The description fit a little too perfectly. It was only by the huge glasses perched on his bulbous nose and his gaudy sash and epaulets that distinguished him from the vermin.

The Duke was accompanied, as always by his valet, a tall thin beanpole of a man who seemed to be in a constant state of looking down his nose at whomever he was talking to. His squashed nose was overrun with nose hairs and his pinched face made him always appear as if he were resisting the need to sneeze. Morten’s face twisted into an unconscious grimace as he considered the thought of the man before him sneezing.

“What may I do for you gentlemen tonight?” Morten asked, determinedly ignoring the valet in favor of looking down at the Duke.

“Besides cease from wandering the place half-naked?” The valet muttered, wrinkling his nose even more. Morten ignored him.

“We came to check on your progress.” The Duke sniffed, clearly displeased with the blacksmith’s scent. “Have you found everything agreeable?”

Morten bowed his head. “Most agreeable Your Grace. I cant thank you enough for the honor of working in this historic forge.” There was genuine emotion in his voice. So few were offered the opportunity, let alone a job within the State Forge.

“Yes, yes.” The Duke, waved his thanks away. “How goes the work, dear boy? I see you received the special material I promised you.”

At this, he hesitated. The glow from the shard reflected powerfully on the tools by his left hand. “Actually, I was wondering if I could have a word with you about that, Your Grace?”

“He doesn’t pay you to wonder.” The valet commented icily. But he was ignored by both parties.

“Is there something wrong?” The Duke asked. Morten might have been imagining it but he swore there was a hint of anger in the little man’s voice.

“It’s just…” He hesitated, then picked up his ruined hammer again. “this metal, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before…” he held the hammer out for the Duke’s inspection. “It’s impossibly strong. And it glows! Where did you come across it?”

“Yes it is the finest material imaginable,” the Duke rambled, not even looking at the hammer. “I imagine it will be quite malleable in your capable hands.” He beamed at the blacksmith. “How soon can you be done?”

“Sir, if I may…” Morten didn’t know where his daring had come from but he felt quite obliged to be heard. “…I don’t think I can work with this material.”

Both of the men scowled at that. “You will, or you will be replaced immediately.” The Duke warned him, his smile gone.

“I don’t think you understand me Your Grace,” Morten plowed on, “This piece alone is probably worth more than this entire forge.” He informed him. “I recommend selling it rather than try to work it into a simple sword.” None of them noticed the boy pause his work, listening attentively.

Morten knew he’d overstepped. But he was unprepared for the burning glower that adorned his lord’s features. “If I cared about your opinion, you’d be in my Cabinet, not in my forge.” The Duke snapped back, suddenly furious. “ _How soon will it be ready?_ ”

Only a childhood of beatings from talking back to his father held the blacksmith’s tongue. “I cannot say yet.” He replied, trying to keep the tremor of anger from his voice. “If it were ordinary and I had to shape it into a weapon, less than a week. But this metal is unlike anything I’ve ever worked with. It could take years for me to even begin.”

“Years?” The force of his surprise had the Duke reeling backwards. It was only by a push from the valet that he remained upright. “Then what am I paying you for?”

Morten physically bit his tongue to keep himself from answering. He glanced back at the metal. Its glow had quieted somewhat but the hairs on the back of his neck were standing upright again. He felt as if a predator were crouched in the shadows behind him, waiting to strike.

“Is there anything about this metal you haven’t told me?” He asked, turning back to the Duke. “Anything I should know?”

“Nothing you are required to know.” The Duke replied, sniffing. “Just do as ordered and try your best not to touch the metal with your bare hands. I’m sure even an oaf like you can remember that?”

Morten sighed inwardly and made a mental note to take as long as he damn-well pleased with this order. “Yes, Your Grace.”

To demonstrate his point, he pulled on his thickest gloves and returned to the forge, where he pulled the heating metal from the flames. Holding it flat on the anvil with one hand, he struck it with a larger hammer, imagining each glowing red lump to be the valet’s smirking face.

“We shall return tomorrow for an update.” The Duke informed him. “Good evening!”

Morten raised a hand in farewell, focused on his work. That is, until he realized the men had not left. He glanced up, about to remind them he needed to work when a horrifying sight caught his attention.

“Ugh.” The valet commented, nose wrinkling again. Evidently they had been turning to leave when they’d caught sight of the same thing Morten had.

A small body was crumpled in front of his table, a hand stretched up towards the shard. It was Henrik. The boy was dead. His cheeks were still red, his body still shining with sweat from the forge. It was as if his soul had just decided to up and leave his flesh without warning or cause. Morten stared, unsure of what to say or do. The air in the room was the thickest it had ever been, teaming with a dark force that seemed to suck all the heat from the fire into itself ceaselessly.

“Not again…” The valet commented, toeing the corpse with a face like he was kicking a pile of shit. “Stupid urchin tried to steal it.”

The Duke’s face screwed up in fury. “Get that useless hunk of flesh out of here!” He snarled, waving a guard over. “Find another one. Preferably one with less sticky hands!”

Morten shuddered and returned to his iron. He did not watch as Henrik’s body was hefted onto the shoulders of a summoned guard and carried from the room like a sack of potatoes. He ignored the valet as he wiped his shoe with a handkerchief and the duke as he flounced out of the forge.

By the time he was alone again, the aura of danger had faded but the tiny sliver of impossible metal still winked temptingly at him from its place across the room.

Morten beat away resolutely at his molten iron, ignoring the metal with all of his might. What exactly was he dealing with? Crossing his hands over his chest, he prayed to his gods for a quick and painless release from this work as soon as humanly possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To read the actual _Orb of Ash_ legend, check out "Orb of Ash" by Dragonheart77 on FanFiction.net!  
> https:// www.fanfiction.net /s / 11622717 /1 / Orb-of-Ash
> 
> The legend about the Twins and the Tree is in the Appendices of _Council_.


	6. Time Flies Part 1

**CHAPTER 3: TIME FLIES**   
_Part 1_

  
_Stories of the Warrior were nearly lost to time. It was only the actions of_ Theonia the Devoted _that saved knowledge of the protector of the Mother’s Realm from the fires of time._

_Before the Daughters were born, when it was just the Mother alone, she spent much time in her garden. She took comfort in her many plants and the peaceful company of the Great Tree. But even an eternal being such as herself grew lonely after millennia of solitude._

_On impulse one day, she seized a seed from the Great Tree and poured as much magic as she could muster into it. She let it bask in the full glory of the Light Goddess, washed it in the Endless Ocean, and strengthened it with a coating of stars-iron._

_It rested underground in her realm for a hundred years, tended patiently by the Mother all that time. She sang songs to it, and told it fantastical stories about the past, present, and future. And whether from its exposure to so many different magics or the Mother’s desperate wish for companionship, it was not a plant that grew from the seed; but a being so very like the Mother herself._

_This Warrior was born of struggle and triumph, crawling from the Earth and embracing the fight from their first breath. In order to move, they had to cut off the very roots that had nurtured them. They stood in the very dirt that had protected them. They were made to fight and knew that they could not from the place they had risen from. Even without the Mother’s command, the Warrior chose the duty of protecting the realm. How could they not when they had loved the Mother from their first conscious thought?_

_They embarked on a series of trials to constantly strengthen themself for their chosen purpose. The Warrior trained in the Sacred Groves and swam across the Endless Ocean, fighting the storms and icy waves. They climbed the Cliff of Trial and passed through the Valley of Temptation. No challenge was too great for them and they faltered for no obstacle._

_Finally, they reached the base of the Great Tree._

_The Great Tree, accepting this Warrior as one of its own root, provided the young spirit with a gift: a sword forged in the Realm of Stars that would complement their strength and magnify their inner light:_ Åndensverd.

_The Warrior took this gift gladly and vowed to wield it honorably._

_For centuries, this noble spirit lived a mostly solitary life, guarding the entrance to the Great Tree with diligence and honor. They witnessed the birth of the Daughters and the fall of the Light Goddess. They were the first to beat back the spreading Darkness._

_And when a young fire-spirit came to the Tree, the Warrior agreed to train her in the ways of combat. They taught the young Light Child the sword and the shield and the honorable way to treat a worthy opponent._

_And when Branna chose to leave the Realm to avoid the pain of her separation from her beloved Isen, it was the Warrior who let her go. Not long after, the Warrior left in pursuit of further strength and glory, descending to the worlds below with only their sword. Searching for ways to keep the Darkness at bay and better serve and protect the Mother’s Realm._

_In many ways, when the Guardian left the Realm, it was the beginning of the end.  
_

**From the writings of Sophie, the great Fire Goddess incarnate, Kingdom of Arendelle, Mid-Winter, 1821**

***

**_Kingdom of Arendelle, Spring, 1821 (Eight years after the events of the Great Freeze)_ **

The winter had always released Arendelle slowly, especially on years when the tides were higher. The waves always seemed thicker in those years and washed lazily against the raised houses along the shoreline. Sluggish water held the cold better and kept the people from breaking up their soil or setting their boats into the fjord to harvest the equally sluggish fish.

Inland, the snows still clung to the forests and mountains, sled tracks well-grooved into the white powder. The odd late-season blizzard occasionally swept through, stranding the ice harvesters and the wood-fellers while they searched out and cleared a path back to the city.

Sometimes Queen Elsa could help with conditions but even her powers could only grant them a temporary reprieve from the worst of winter. Even she could not keep the icicles from dropping unexpectedly from rooftops, nearly killing those unfortunate enough to be under a loose one. The path to the palace was coated in a thick rime of ice that Elsa cleared as often as she dared. Often the more she cleared, the harder Nature corrected the balance, adding more powder elsewhere or turning the frost into a slippery ice.

But the palace itself was curiously clear of the dangerous icicles and the only ice hanging upon it was that put there as decoration by Elsa herself. The rest of the palace was snow and ice free and sometimes even looked like it was steaming in the weak spring sunlight.

Ever since the Battle of the Seasons several years prior, the palace had adopted a pleasant new aura. Those received for audiences often described a pleasant atmosphere inside: a warmth and contentment that one typically only achieved lounging under a large tree in the warm summer sun.

This was attributed almost entirely to the presence of Arendelle’s young princess.

At this very moment, in the depths of the palace, said princess was alone for the first time in several days. She skipped up the central staircase, soft giggles of jokes known only to her being the only indication of where she was headed.

The young princess paused on the second floor, listening for any sounds of servants or her family hanging about. When she was satisfied that she was well and truly alone, she set off up the next flight of stairs, her short head bobbing above the railing with each skip.

Princess Sophie of Arendelle was just shy of her seventh birthday. The child was small but strong, with a dancer’s muscles and an unruly collection of sandy hair that her mother constantly tried to tame with braids. Her skin was just a hair darker than her mother and aunts’ but a defiant blaze of dark freckles adorned her nose and forehead. She hated them but her father loved to count them, which she loved.

She finally stopped at the landing of the third floor, beaming at the small ramp of books and trunks she had stacked several days previously for this very moment. As her excitement grew, she rubbed her hands together, feeling tiny sparks crackle between her palms. The air around her always seemed to shimmer with heat and those who were close enough to catch a whiff of her scent found it varied between the salt of the shore and the tang of woodsmoke. Tiny grains of sand seemed to follow her everywhere. But even with accidental fires and the constant danger of paper around her inquisitive hands, there was only one word that best described the princess: _fearless._

Sophie grinned. She knew who she was. She was Princess Sophie of Arendelle. She was the Summer incarnate. And she was on a mission.

Sophie backed up and crouched down, preparing herself for today’s feat of ambition. Tiny embers flared excitedly in the air around her but she managed to keep them contained. Father hated it when she set the carpets on fire. Readying herself, she sprinted forward, charged up her ramp and leaping off of the railing. Once airborne, her hands warmed quickly and a small blast of fire from each palm sent her soaring higher. The chandelier drifted closer, closer…then began to fall away, far from her reach. 

She had failed.

Before she’d even started to feel the pull of gravity, strong arms were wrapped around her middle, pulling her away from the traitorous chandelier and towards the other side of the balcony.

Her protector grunted slightly and bent their knees as they landed on the carpet, dropping Sophie gently on the floor and rolling over their shoulder to burn off the momentum. But they still slammed into the wall rather hard. The protector groaned again as they flopped onto their back, rubbing their forehead.

Sophie giggled and crawled forward to sit next to the other’s head as they lay sprawled on the floor.

“You’re worse than your aunt…” Her Guardian growled up at her, panting slightly. The woman’s tight braid had come undone slightly, long pieces of her hair stretching across the carpet.

Sophie smiled at her. “You always say that, Aunt Theo.”

Theo lifted a hand and ruffled the young girl’s hair, knocking loose the final braid that remained from that morning. “Because it’s true, you little monster. One of these days, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

Sophie beamed confidently. “Not me! I’m the goddess of fire!”

Theo smirked at her and rolled over slightly so she was facing her. “Is that so? Alright almighty goddess, what was your plan in case you missed the chandelier and I didn’t catch you?”

Sophie fell silent. She pouted adorably at Aunt Theo. Sometimes that was enough to get off without a lecture.

Theo shook her head, immune to the pout in this circumstance. “I keep telling you, you need to plan for these things. I wont always be around to catch you.”

This did not worry the young spirit. “Yes you will! How far did you manage to travel this time?”

Theo rolled her eyes. “From the East Wing council room…”

“You see? That’s even further than last time!” Her experiment had worked flawlessly. “You’ll always be able to make it if I’m in trouble.”

“…where I was in a meeting with your aunt and…your mother.” Theo finished in a low voice.

Almost flawlessly. “Huh?”

“SOPHIE!”

Yelping in surprise and now fear, Sophie leapt to her feet and tried to dash away. But before she’d even taken two steps, Theo was lifting her off the ground, holding her under her arm like a sack of potatoes.

“Put me down!” Sophie hissed as footsteps thundered up the stairs towards them.

“Not a chance.”

Sophie tried to set Theo’s tunic on fire but as always, her flames curled away from the Guardian, refusing to touch her. Guilt gnawed in her stomach but she couldn’t justify it. She had to get away. She tried squirming and tickling but nothing released the iron grip of the Guardian from her.

Thundering footsteps raced up the stairs. Princess Anna reached the two of them, panting hard and sporting a scowl that made even the Guardian flinch. Queen Elsa was several steps behind her. Her gaze flicked from Sophie’s squirming form to Theo’s resolute face. She sighed heavily.

Anna was furiously fixated on her daughter. “Sophie! What were you and Theo doing this time?”

Sophie made one last desperate attempt to wriggle free from Theo’s grip and escape but the Guardian held her firmly. The child deflated, well and truly caught.

“I was tryin’ to see if I could grab the chandelier above the staircase…” Sophie mumbled.

She had tried to be as quiet as possible but Anna heard everything. “Why?” She demanded.

Sophie shrank still further, burying her face in Theo’s tunic. “So I could swing from it…”

“WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO…?”

“She was fine.” Theo assured Anna, smirking at the cowering princess under her arm. “I caught her long before she was in any danger.”

Anna rounded on the Guardian. “But she still tried it to begin with!”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t? I distinctly remember Elsa telling me about how you’d ‘mastered the chandelier spin before you turned 10…’”

“Please, don’t implicate me in this…” Elsa begged, pinching the bridge of her nose. Without even looking, the queen sent a flurry of ice across the hall, extinguishing the smoldering banister that had suffered from Sophie’s propulsion.

Sophie offered a guilty grimace, which Elsa returned.

Anna snatched her daughter from Theo, holding Sophie with far less poise than the Guardian had. At nearly seven years old, it was getting harder each day to hold the young princess like a child. To no one’s surprise, Anna merely continued her rant, directing her fury at Theo now.

“She learns these things from watching you, you know. Always being reckless, pushing yourself to do impossible things,” she jostled Sophie higher, setting her on her hip, “encouraging her to use her fire for an extra burst of speed…”

Theo chuckled at that. “To be fair… _she_ gave me that idea first.”

Elsa raised an eyebrow. 

Theo shrugged. “Branna sometimes got impatient with how slowly I ran…”

“May I remind you,” Anna cut in, not at all amused, “that not all the ideas you got from Branna were good ones?”

Theo’s gaze darkened slightly. “I’ll give you that.” She acknowledged, her voice still cheery. “But she’s going to keep trying these things.” She winked at the young princess, making the girl smile. “Branna’s a restless spirit.”

“ _Sophie_ is a little girl.” Anna spat back, clutching her daughter tighter.

Sophie was about to voice that no, she was indeed a big girl (almost seven!), but a look from Theo had her biting her lip.

“She can be both.” Theo acknowledged. “Is Elsa not?”

Elsa placed a gentle pat on Sophie’s hair. “She has a point, Anna.”

“Elsaaa….” Anna seethed, hissing at her sister through her teeth. “Don’t help her!” 

Elsa shrugged but offered no other assistance to either her sister or her Guardian.

“Don’t worry about it, Anna.” Theo offered, crossing her arms and grinning. “I’m always here to help when Branna gets a little restless.”

Anna’s face darkened. “I think I preferred when you _helped_ without talking.”

The balcony went silent at that statement.

With some apparent difficulty, Theo bit her tongue and submissively lowered her head. She had nothing further to say.

“Anna…” Elsa began but her sister turned all of her focus to her daughter instead. 

“Sophie. Go find Reba.” She commanded her, placing her down and brushing her hair into place.

Sophie half-heartedly batted at the doting hands. “But mom, it really was my fault…”

“Go! Now.”

Sophie knew that tone. It was an “adult conversation” tone. That usually meant there was about to be a lot of yelling, usually directed at a certain black-haired woman. As slowly as she dared, she skipped her way back down the stairs, heading towards the secret passage in the portrait room that would take her to Reba’s office. But before she ducked out of sight on the second floor, she stole a glance back at her Guardian.

Theo winked at her. She always did. No matter what she did, Aunt Theo always forgave her quickly. Sophie’s heart swelled with love and bursts of brightly-colored flames flickered around her. Before her mother could see, she darted away, now running as fast as she could. 

Maybe if Reba wasn’t following a lead, they could practice their fire dancing again! Sophie grinned to herself. Maybe if Reba was probing a lead, she’d sneak her along again.

***

Princess Sophie knew the palace well. She knew that the first floor banister was best for sliding down and that the doors of the portrait hall were likely to come unhinged if thrown open too dramatically. She also knew about the secret passageway in her mother’s office that led down to the center of town and the one behind the third suit of armor in the west second floor corridor that took one out through the cellars.

But she also knew something the grownups didn’t know. And that was exactly where to find the Arendelle spy mistress at any given point in the day.

So she scaled the many steps to the highest point in the castle and squeezed behind the false door to enter the secret office of her best friend.

All around her, the gears of the great clock whirred and the steady ticking of the pendulum reverberated from below. Sophie stared around into the mechanics, admiring the mesh of the gears and the smoothness of their constant motion. Such things fascinated her and she made a note to draw them later.

A raspy croak caught her attention and she turned. A large raven sat crossly on the beam next to her, glaring at her reproachfully.

“Hello Agog!” Sophie greeted him, reaching to stroke his head. The raven snapped at her, refusing to let her touch him. He cocked his head expectantly.

Sophie was unfazed. “I couldn’t get chestnuts…” she apologized, digging into her pocket (patiently stitched there by her mother: “dresses without pockets should be against the law!”). “But…I got the next best thing!” She revealed a palm full of beech nuts.

The raven considered her gift haughtily but decided it was better than nothing. He began tearing the nuts from their shells, begrudgingly letting the princess stroke him as chasing her off would detract from precious time with his snack.

A voice echoed from the bowels of the clock. “He’s going to be spoiled if you keep feeding him like that…”

Sophie smiled and patted the raven’s shaggy neck. “Agog? Never! He’s the best there is!” The bird croaked in agreement.

Reba appeared silently behind Sophie, shaking her head at her familiar. “Agog, _dovol’no._ ”

The raven chuffed and swallowed his last nut defiantly before flying over to the spy mistress’ open hand. There he climbed his way up to her shoulder and began to preen himself.

Reba turned to the princess, dipping her head slightly in respect. Now almost 14, Arendelle’s spy mistress was coming into her own as a silent member of Queen Elsa’s court. Still somewhat short for a girl, she made up for it with a wiry build that had slowly begun its transition to a beautiful womanhood. Most people didn’t know her real age and assumed she was much younger, which aided the young spy well in her work. She dressed in billowing breeches that were often mistaken for a skirt and kept her long red hair in two braids alongside her face, much like Princess Anna did. Her foreign features sometimes made her stand out in crowds but she had so perfectly mastered the art of fading into the background that it hardly mattered what color her hair was or how different her face looked.

The secret office around them was unknown to all but the princess and the spy. Everyone in Arendelle glanced up at the clock every day and was ignorant of the important work that went on just behind the face. Reba had somehow constructed a small desk in the space as well as a filing system stacked inside the indents of numbers on the clock. Everything was carefully sorted and weighed down to prevent storms from scattering the paper. The ravens she used as messengers and extra eyes lived up here too, claiming the clock’s inner workings and the supporting architecture as their indisputable home. Sophie was pretty sure Reba slept up here as well, since she didn’t have official quarters within the palace itself. She’d once convinced the spy to sleep in her room but she’d been disappointed to find the red-head had snuck away sometime during the night.

Reba smiled at her. “You’re just on time, Sophie.” She informed her. She already had her satchel thrown over one shoulder. Sophie knew what that meant.

She began to vibrate with excitement. “Does this mean you have a lead?” She whispered, the air around her crackling with excited sparks.

Reba smiled warmly at the younger girl’s excitement and admired the sparks like one might a precious piece of art. “No.” She replied and Sophie’s face fell. “But,” the spy continued, “I do have a meeting with Dagrun and Nyle shortly. I’m sure you could take the opportunity for some practice.”

The princess bounced at her suggestion. “I’ll be so well hidden, **you** wont even realize I’m there!” She declared, puffing out her chest.

Reba laughed, a short hard bark but one that shook with genuine humor. “Let’s let Dagrun and Nyle be the judges of that.” She lifted her arm and Agog hopped onto it, peering into her face.

“ _Letat._ ” Reba commanded and her raven took off. As he soared over the courtyard, Sophie saw his mate Hoyl lift off from elsewhere in the clock-face join him. The two ravens met with joyous vocalizations and a brief tumble through the air before soaring away to the docks.

“Hey Reba?” Sophie asked, swinging her legs as she leaned on the edge of the clock face. “Which of your ravens would each of us be?”

“You’re definitely Agog.” Reba responded immediately, pulling her down from her perch.

“What? Why do I have to be the boy bird!?” Sophie demanded, indignant.

Reba shook her head, her eyes twinkling. “It has nothing to do with your gender. It’s merely a comparison of personality.” She turned away, heading for the stairs back to the castle, and leaving Sophie trying to figure out exactly what she’d meant by that.

“Come on, my princess.” Reba called back to her. “At this rate, we’ll be late for our meeting. And a good spy is never late.”

***

Sophie loved her lessons with Reba. Although technically, she wasn’t supposed to call them “lessons”, she couldn’t think of a better name for the time they spent together. Reba was the one who taught her how to look for subtle clues and how to hide in plain sight. It was the reason she was able to hear half the things she did hear around the castle.

She skipped alongside Reba as they wandered down the busy streets of Arendelle. As soon as they’d left the tower, Sophie had donned her special cloak. It was made from the remnants of an old dress Elsa had produced for her some years ago, fashioned into a hooded cape by Gerda. The fabric was a faded ashy-grey but lit by streaks of orange and red that hadn’t dimmed with time. Sophie always felt her powers more acutely whenever she wore it. But it was so worn that her mother didn’t let her wear it for royal events. So it lived in her closet as a spare blanket, except when it became her disguise for walking the streets as a spy. Now, with the hood pulled up over her sandy hair, she could walk with Reba as an equal, without the citizens recognizing their princess.

The people they passed barely glanced at them. Most recognized Reba as “that girl who works in the palace? Right?” Although she was spotted in the background of important affairs and often accompanied the princesses or queen around, no one really knew just what the forgettable, quiet girl with red hair did in the palace.

As they reached their destination, Reba turned to Sophie. “Alright, let’s see how you do today.”

Sophie grinned, holding out her hand. With a fond smirk, Reba clapped their hands together twice, then threaded their fingers together in a secret sign. Without another word, she vanished inside the entrance.

Sophie took a second to consider her options. They were still uptown, near the storage unit of the New Snowflake Inn. It was the perfect rendezvous point for the young spies of Arendelle: right alongside the action of the kingdom’s most distinguished guests, mixed in with those who served said guests, and tucked in a quiet enough corner that their meetings weren’t interrupted.

She’d never been here before. But that wasn’t going to stop her. She made a quick lap around the building, looking for any kind of loose panel or back door that she could slip into. No such luck; this building was quite new and kept in relatively good condition. 

Sophie bit her lip and looked around. There had to be something!

She rounded the building again, this time looking up. Then she saw it: a small ledge about 12 feet up fitted under a narrow but long hole. Sophie perked up immediately. Perfect!

It was a relatively new architectural trend in Arendelle, now that ice could be counted on in every season. 

The only issue was, there was no way to get to the opening. 

Sophie glanced around, more out of habit that any need for secrecy. Then she rubbed her hands and reached inside that fire that filled every inch of her skin.

The sand came effortlessly, spilling from her hands as easily as Elsa’s ice formed from hers. Sophie let it pile up underneath her, gently raising her up until she could easily step onto the ledge. It was a little high but she wasn’t too frightened. The princess crouched down and tucked each of her legs into the narrow hole. To her relief, there was another ledge on the inside of the building.

Sucking in a deep breath, Sophie blew dramatically in the direction of her sand pile. The sand scattered on a warm wind. Nodding in satisfaction, she wriggled her body fully into the small building, finding herself perched on the narrow ledge made by the low ceiling’s beams and one of the braces holding them up. In front of her were several large blocks of her aunt’s ice, keeping the building cool. Ten feet below her, Reba waited patiently among the barrels and sacks of food. The spy didn’t glance up as the princess moved silently into position.

Sophie crept along the ledge, spotting a shadowy corner of the rooftop that she could easily fit into. Drawing her hood up to better blend in, she folded herself into the corner space, bracing her feet and arms against the beams around her and trying to keep her hands from getting too warm with her excitement.

Tucked in her tiny alcove, Sophie settled in to wait.

Less than two minutes later, three boys quietly slid in through the cellar entrance and greeted Reba.

“Mistress.” The eldest greeted, bowing slightly so his long fair hair bounced. Sophie kept silent as she heard the other two searching the possible hiding spots in the room. To her delight (and pride), they disregarded her spot completely.

“Hello Dagrun.” Reba said, returning the eldest’s greeting. She tilted her head slightly towards the other two as they joined them. “Nyle, Jarl.”

Sophie wriggled slightly, clamping a hand over her mouth to keep herself quiet. Jarl had come?! She grinned through her hand. He was going to love this! If he could find her…

“How fares the kingdom?” Dagrun asked, part of a coded greeting Sophie knew from reading Reba’s reports.

“The summer will be fair.” Reba replied, giving the pass-phrase for ‘no immediate threats.’ “What of your work?” She inquired, pulling papers and a pen from her satchel to take notes. Dagrun hopped up on a barrel, perching on the balls of his feet like a bird.

“Not much to report.” Nyle began, settling himself on a crate. “There were some whispers in the lower city about the Queen’s new tax on artisan goods but no one dangerous was involved. We talked with the dissident group as well and they’re coming round to meeting with the crown.”

“Not happy about it,” Dagrun chimed in, taking an apple from the shelf and biting into it. “But we’ve got some leverage there. Most still owe us from our help during the Battle.”

Reba nodded, scratching out a line she had written. “How are resources for the Queen’s school coming?”

“Well.” Dagrun articulated around a mouthful of fruit. “There was some question about where the cots were coming from. But our adult rep got that sorted with Lord Ardunna. And Jarl’s been poking around for new recruits.”

Jarl nodded proudly. “I’ve got eyes on at least two, maybe a third who’ll be great additions to the Ears.” Sophie pouted. She wondered if she were one of the orphans in Elsa’s school if she would have been scouted to join the Ears. She wanted to think so. After all, she’d found this hiding space.

Reba hummed at something Dagrun was saying, making several scratching notes on her parchment. “And what of the Lower City Gangs?”

“The Brigade just lost some territory to Evigsmerte so they’re licking their wounds.” Nyle replied.

“Any retaliations?”

“Nothing to worry about yet. Plus, they’ve got the ring operating tonight. Should let them burn off some aggression.”

“There’s a death match scheduled for tonight down in the southern district underground.” Dagrun cut in. His apple core made a thunk as he tossed it against the wall.

“Between whom?” Reba asked, now sounding very interested.

“Nothing’s confirmed.” The spy replied. A slight grin split his face. “But who do you think?”

“This is nothing to be happy about, Dagrun.” Nyle snapped, shoving him so hard he fell off the barrel. “You know what happens down there.”

The older boy shrugged. “It’ll be fine. The Runt never loses.”

“I’ll have Hoyl keep watch.” Reba assured them, her face scrunching briefly in worry. “Anything else?”

The boys paused and Sophie leaned forward slightly so she wouldn’t miss anything.

“Well, yes actually…” Dagrun stepped down from his barrel. “Jarl’s got a report. He’s started to notice some…new people in town.”

Reba’s scratching stopped. “New people?” She asked, just a hint of intrigue in her voice. “Of which land?”

“Weselton.” Jarl answered. Sophie stiffened. She knew about that place. Her mother was always telling her stories about the bad Duke who ran that province. In her anger, she didn’t notice the wood under her palms start to smoke.

“Are they military?” Reba asked, her note-taking abandoned in favor of listening in. 

“They’re not soldiers or assassins.” Jarl continued. “A bunch of them have got kids with them.”

“Really?” This seemed to surprise Reba.

“Yeah…seems like a couple of families have immigrated here…I started to talk with some of the kids and they said it had to do with…” He stopped suddenly, sniffing deeply. “What’s that smell?”

Sophie panicked, finally realizing that her hands had effectively set the wood to smoldering. She pulled her hands away but the damage was already done. 

Nyle’s eyes narrowed as he sniffed the air. “Smoke?”

“Wait…” Jarl glanced around. His eyes passed right over where Sophie was hiding. “Branna’s here…isn’t she?”

Dagrun and Nyle shared a startled glance. Eyes darting around, Dagrun eventually landed on Sophie’s hiding spot. “There.” He said, pointing.

Her game up, Sophie extricated herself from the hollow, grinning sheepishly as she emerged. With a short hop onto a bag of grain, she was alongside the others on the floor. 

The boys nodded to her as she joined them. “You almost had us that time, Branna.” Nyle commended her. “Really. I believed we were alone until I smelled the smoke.”

Sophie grinned, the smile only growing wider as Reba gave her an approving nod.

“I didn’t even realize there was a hiding spot there!” Jarl exclaimed, his eyes glowing with wonder as Sophie stood next to him. “Great work! You’d make a great Ear!”

“Thanks Jarl.” Sophie mumbled, kicking the floor shyly.

“You’ve improved.” Dagrun commented, ruffling her hair affectionately. “Nice work. But next time, maybe try to hold onto something that’s not flammable.”

“Not much in here that isn’t…” Jarl replied, nudging Sophie softly. 

Reba pointed cleared her throat. “Can we get back to the matter at hand?” She held out her pen to Sophie. “Branna, if you would?”

Sophie’s grin nearly split her face in two. She all but snatched the quill from Reba and buried herself in making careful notes as the others went back to discussing kingdom business. She was never happier than when she was with the Arendelle Youth Sentries.

Here she wasn’t a princess, expected to act a certain way. Here her every misstep didn’t lead to punishment.

Here she was just Branna, the rebel.

***

Her head was starting to feel heavy. Elsa rubbed her temple as she walked through the castle, dreading the signs of the oncoming headache her body was displaying. She’d cut her meditation short this morning. Now she was going to pay the price. 

_I really shouldn’t sacrifice my meditations…_ She thought as she crossed the corridor to head for the east courtyard, looking for her niece. _It’s always worse when I cut them short…_

Years of walking through her memories had not slowed the deluge. Reba had been right: with centuries of earthly memories and endless more from the Mother’s Realm, her mind was a constant blizzard of faces, times, events, and premonitions.

Her head gave a slight twinge of pain as she crossed from the shadowy interior of the castle into the sunlight. _Maybe I should cancel my evening and meditate tonight…Reba or Kai would inform me if anything pressing came up…_

Her mental planning was interrupted by the sense that someone was already in the courtyard. And based on the time of day, there was only one person it could be. 

Stepping quietly, Elsa descended into the courtyard and stopped to take in the sight before her.

Theo was training. Again. But for as common an occurrence as it was, Elsa always found herself pausing to watch, no matter how busy she was.

Dressed only in her shirt and breeches, the Guardian had her thick wooden sparring staff laid on the ground before her. She waited, still and coiled like a spring, her back to Elsa. A spring breeze crossed the space between them, stirring both of their hair. As the wind faded, the warrior moved.

With a twitch of her foot, the staff was airborne, flipping end over end. Theo caught it on its descent and began a complicated set of attack forms, striking the air around her like a snake. After so many years of practice, the wood moved like an extension of her body. Though she struck nothing, Elsa could see the accuracy and strength behind her blows. She watched each shift and change with fascination, her hands absently forming a snowflake.

The demonstration ended with a gentle tap of the end of the weapon on the stones. The Guardian knelt, keeping it upright, then turned the length of wood and laid it back in its original spot.

Slowly, she rose to her feet.

“Hello my Queen.” Theo greeted without turning around.

Far too used to this kind of greeting, Elsa crossed the courtyard to join her.

“How did you know I was here?” She inquired. She was sure she had made no sound this time.

Theo turned to her, her eyes glinting. “I don’t need to be your Guardian to know when I’m in your presence.” She bowed, but less deeply than she would have in public. “What can I do for you, Elsa?”

Elsa shrugged, absentmindedly spinning her small snowflake in her hands. “Nothing. I just felt like a walk. It’s so nice out today.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh, sure. What meeting are you avoiding?”

Elsa sighed. There was no point in being coy with Theo involved. Much like Anna, Theo always saw right through her motives. “Tax review.” She admitted. “That and the usual…reports on trade routes and surpluses. Really quite riveting material all of it…I could just squeal with excitement.” She winced at her head’s displeasure at even the thought of Arendellian tax law.

Theo smirked at her sarcasm. “Want me to interrupt it again? I’ve been working on my startled face.” She demonstrated, looking utterly ridiculous. 

Elsa waved a hand to cover her amused giggle. “Don’t bother. I’ve already pushed it to tomorrow in light of Sophie’s…endeavor with the chandelier.” She shook her head, feeling the developing headache worsen. “Between you, Anna, and Sophie, I don’t _need_ manufactured interruptions.”

Theo waved a finger. “Ah but there’s a flaw in that logic. All of my interruptions are never manufactured. They are precisely when they need to be to keep you from freezing someone out of boredom.”

It took all of Elsa’s regal poise to keep from laughing. She rolled her eyes to cover her humor. “You can be so…”

“I know, infuriating.” Theo finished for her, “you’ve mentioned it multiple times.” Her face darkened slightly. “So has your sister…”

Elsa wanted to sympathize but she still felt her sister was in the right. “She didn’t really mean what she said…” she began, “about the…those years…” She finished, unable to voice her punishment out of shame.

Theo couldn’t seem to look at her. 

“She just…Sophie worries her.” Elsa continued. “Especially when she tries to do things that you used to do…”

“It’s not like I encourage her.” 

Elsa recalled the Guardian’s nonchalant response to Anna’s earlier indignation. “But you don’t do much to discourage it either.” She pointed out.

“It’s not my job to tell Sophie what she can and can’t do. Branna is a goddess, she can do what she wants. I’m just supposed to protect her.”

“But Anna doesn’t see it that way.” Elsa pressed, trying hard not to think about how much Theo’s view on freedom had changed since learning they were gods. “To her, keeping her from trying things like grabbing the chandelier _is_ protecting her.”

“She won’t learn if she doesn’t try…”

“Anna just doesn’t want to see her get hurt…physically or emotionally. And the fact that you so easily interchange Sophie with Branna doesn’t help.”

Theo sighed heavily but offered no rebuttal. The wind filled the silence between them, carrying just a hint of pollen.

“Should I apologize?” Theo finally asked. 

“To Anna?” Elsa nodded. “Probably…She would appreciate it at least. And…I know she points a lot of the blame at you…but honestly…” She paused, unsure if she should share this particular suspicion of hers with the Guardian. “I think she feels it more as a failing on her part…”

“If it’s any consolation, she’s doing fantastic.” Theo replied, “I mean, given what your parents did to you two when they had to unknowingly raise Isen, I count the fact that Sophie hasn’t yet burned down the castle or lost her spark entirely as victories.”

Elsa grimaced, wanting to acknowledge the compliment but the comment about her parents left a bitter taste in her mouth. 

An uneasy silence descended again, broken only by the distant crash of waves upon the shore. 

“…well I should…” Elsa finally began, just as Theo opened her mouth to say something. “What?”

The Guardian swallowed her comment. “Nothing.” She turned away from the Queen and pulled up her left sleeve, tugging at the knife brace against her skin. The thin white scar from her boding cut with Elsa glimmered in the afternoon sunlight and the Queen felt her gaze pulled to it. But then she noticed the several purple spots around it.

It wasn’t so uncommon for Theo to have bruises. She trained so often that it was rare when she didn’t have at least one bandage on her somewhere. But something about these particular bruises made Elsa pause.

“Are those from rescuing Sophie?” She asked, her voice gentler than she meant it to be.

Theo rolled her shoulder so her sleeve fell back down. “Don’t worry about it.” She assured Elsa with a smile. “Comes with the job.” But Elsa still watched her carefully as she moved to clean up her training supplies; taking silent note of the subtle wince that had Theo favoring her right side.

A warm breeze startled them both and they turned towards the entrance to the courtyard. Princess Sophie stood watching them, her hands on her hips like a school teacher watching misbehaving children.

“Elsa!” She called, “I couldn’t find you!” Her indignant pout had Elsa chuckling and she wasn’t surprised to hear Theo stifling a laugh as well. “It’s _our_ time! Were you and Aunt Theo plotting again?”

“Certainly not!” Theo replied, sounding affronted at the accusation. “I was merely telling Queen Elsa how lovely the zinnias look today!” She gestured at several flowers that even Sophie was sure to know were not zinnias.

“Don’t lie to me!” Sophie commanded; the spitting image of her mother. She folded her arms and glared at the Guardian. Sparks snapped in the air around her and her hair lifted in a hot wind. “You were stealing Elsa away from me again!” 

There were few things that Sophie got upset with Theo over. Most of them revolved around Elsa.

Elsa stole a glance at Theo but the Guardian only had eyes for the princess at that moment. 

“It’s not a lie.” Theo insisted, all teasing absent from her voice. “She found me this time.”

Sophie gawked at Elsa as if she’d personally betrayed her. 

“Theo…” Elsa growled, a hint of warning in her voice. “Please don’t antagonize her..”

“Who me?” Theo feigned hurt. “I’m just a lowly solider, what chance do I have of standing between the almighty Isen and Branna?” She winked at Sophie but the girl wasn’t budging. 

“Hmph!” Sophie folded her arms and turned away, her nose in the air. 

“Well, as a lowly soldier, I know when I’m not wanted.” Theo stated, shaking her head. She flipped the training staff into her hands with her foot and inclined her head to Elsa. “Excuse me, my Queen, I have somewhere else to be anyway.” She offered Sophie a smile that the girl smugly only half-returned and jogged off, vanishing into the castle.

Winter and Summer were left alone at last. 

“Hello, my Sunshine.” Elsa greeted the princess, opening up her arms.

Resolutely, Sophie pouted, half turning herself away from her aunt. She was clearly still upset that Elsa had once again been with Theo during their agreed meeting time.

“Oh come on…” Elsa prodded. “No hug for your favorite aunt?”

Sophie wavered but stubbornly reasserted her pout. “Maybe Theo’s my favorite aunt…” she muttered.

Elsa laughed. “Now I know that’s not true.” She chided, unable to stop smiling. “Because I’m Theo’s Queen and also your Aunt. So that makes me the Queen of all Aunts.”

Sophie began to smile at that and Elsa knew that she had her. The queen indicated her own open arms. “Well? Do you defy your Queen Aunt?”

Sophie’s stubborn pout shattered and the young princess scampered forward, launching herself into Elsa’s embrace with a whiff of smoke. “You’re not my aunt.” She insisted, burrowing into Elsa’s chest. “You’re mine.”

Elsa laughed at that. It was so innocently insistent and yet also so true. She loved this girl more than she had thought it possible. And because of who they were, she’d never think of a better description for their love than simply that they belonged to each other.

“ _Hello Branna._ ” She whispered, her deeply familiar voice leaking through. She could see the blue light in her eyes falling on her niece’s skin.

Sophie giggled as her eyes blazed with fiery warmth. This was their secret thrill: speaking in their true voices only to each other. “ _Hello my Isen._ ” She replied, her youthful voice brimming with wisdom. It was sometimes unsettling to hear such a voice from the young princess. But when it was just them, Elsa felt the most complete.

She pressed her forehead against the girl’s, feeling their contrasting powers mingle all around them. The pounding in her head ceased, if only slightly.

“You upset your mother today.” Elsa began, carrying the girl further into the garden. They passed by the immaculate herb beds, tended to perfection by a gentle, patient hand.

“I know…” Sophie whimpered, wrapping her arms around Elsa’s neck. She clung to the queen, her head tucked against Elsa’s. “Is she mad at me?”

“Anna’s not mad at you.” Elsa assured her. 

“But she yelled!” Sophie insisted. “A lot!” 

“Mostly at Theo.”

Sophie grimaced, a hot breeze ruffling both of their braids. 

“I know you weren’t trying to get Theo in trouble…” Elsa continued. “But Theo is an adult. She should know better than to let you do dangerous things like that.”

“But she didn’t know!” Sophie insisted. “I was trying to see if she could reach me in time from all the way across the castle.”

Elsa stared at her in surprise. “You were what?” The girl shrank slightly at Elsa’s tone and she tried to correct herself. “Why…why would you test something like that?”

“I was curious.” Sophie admitted. “And I really did want to try to grab the chandelier…I just knew that if I failed, Theo would catch me.” 

She truly was fearless. Elsa felt a tiny pang of envy sneak into her heart at the lack of fear her niece got to live with. By the time she had been Sophie’s age, she’d lived in constant fear behind a closed door. _What must it be like…to have a childhood free of that feeling?_

Elsa sighed and put her niece down in the grove of oak trees her grandmother had planted. She wasn’t sure where to begin. She knew she had to impress upon the girl what she had done wrong but didn’t know how to without crushing her spirit.

“Can we start now?” Sophie asked, already bouncing impatiently. Sand had started to swirl in the air around her. 

Elsa smiled. “Of course. Why don’t you begin?”

Her eyes alight; Sophie waved her hands through the air. Sand gathered in her palms and under her feet, gradually growing into a pile. Giggling, Sophie began to dance. Elsa lowered herself to the ground to watch, marveling at how precise yet seemingly effortless her niece’s dance was. She had a move for every kind of motion she wanted the sand to make. 

Perhaps, where she had been a natural-born singer, Sophie was a dancer.

The princess abruptly stopped as she passed next to Elsa, her hands planted on her hips. “I think that’s good, right?” She asked. The sand pile was twice her size. 

“Looks fine to me.” Elsa agreed. “My turn.” She raised a hand and the entire courtyard filled with snow up to her niece’s shoulders.

“Ellllssssaaa!!!” Sophie’s whine could rival Anna’s for its adorable pettiness. But where Anna would need to be dug out of such a trick, Sophie’s heat immediately melted a small radius around her tiny form. 

“Oh no!” Sophie wrapped her arms tightly around herself, warily watching as more of the snow around her melted. Her heat wavered in the air around her. Elsa’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. _There it is._

“Easy now…” Elsa encouraged her. “Don’t try to hold it back.”

Sophie cocked her head at Elsa but finally stopped hugging herself. “Don’t?”

“No. You have to think about what you like about my snow.” Elsa urged her. “Why you want it to stay as it is.”

Sophie screwed up her face, thinking hard. The heat only intensified. 

“Relax.” Elsa told her, rubbing her back. “It won’t work if you try too hard.”

Sophie still seemed confused but she took a deep breath anyway. Several seconds passed, in which Sophie’s heat wavered somewhere between warm and scorching.

“It’s not working, Elsa!” She finally declared, a frustrated wave of heat blasting from her in all directions, melting a good amount of the drifts. “I’m melting the snow!”

“Don’t worry about it.” Elsa assured her. She waved her hand, conjuring up more. “Let’s just play and see what happens.”

Sophie was reluctant at first but Elsa eventually coaxed her into shaping several snowballs, the girl’s heat becoming more muted the more carefree she became with her play. Eventually, she moved between playing with the snow and her own sand easily, with neither one worse for wear.

Elsa watched her, pride mixing with her small wriggling feeling of envy. Sophie had so much love for her powers, despite her occasional difficulties controlling them. Elsa often forgot that the girl was the same age she had been when she’d accidentally struck Anna.

_What would my life have been like…if I’d had this back then?_ If she’d had someone to teach her, to encourage her instead of…

“Elsa, look!” Sophie called, drawing Elsa’s attention out of her past.

While she’d been reminiscing, Sophie had been shaping things with her sand. She presented a large, lumpy mass of sand for Elsa’s approval. Elsa tilted her head, confused. “What’s that?”

“ _She_.” Sophie stubbornly insisted, “is Helga. And she’s my sand-woman!”

Now Elsa saw the sloppy face her niece had given the thing. She bowed slightly, every bit the regal queen. “My apologies, Mistress Helga.”

Sophie nodded approvingly. Narrowing her eyes, she flicked her fingers at her creation. Nothing happened. Screwing up her face more, Sophie tried again.

“What are you doing?” Elsa asked, amused by the focus she had.

“Trying to bring her to life!” Sophie exclaimed, now pressing both of her hands to Helga’s head like she could push life into her. After several seconds, Sophie look over at Elsa. “…How do I bring her to life…?” She asked, suddenly shy.

Elsa patted her niece on the top of her head. “I’m not really sure how it happens. Every time I’ve ever done it, it’s been an accident.” She examined Helga, her heart twisting as she recalled a similarly childlish-looking creation with a carrot nose. “I suppose, you just have to be feeling something really strongly.”

“But I am!” Sophie insisted. “And it’s still not working!” She flicked her fingers at Helga, several grains of sand tumbling loose from her hands. 

“I didn’t bring anything to life until I was an adult.” Elsa assured her. “Give it time, Sophie. You’re still growing into your powers.”

Sophie pouted again but stopped furiously trying to force life into her sand-woman. “I wanted to show mom…” She whispered, more to herself than to Elsa.

Elsa’s gaze softened and she reached out to stroke the girl’s hair. 

“Your mother’s not upset with you.” She told her, as the girl leaned back into her touch. “She just…worries about you. A lot.” It was something Elsa had tried time and again to bring up with Anna but could never seem to find the right words. “You’re a very special girl. Not only are you the summer, you’re also adventurous and headstrong.”

“And I’m smart.” Sophie declared, nodding in agreement. “Master Hildar says so.”

“You are _very_ smart.” Elsa acknowledged, combing her fingers through Sophie’s hair. It would be foolish not to agree, the child had begun to read at barely three months old. Her mind echoed with hints of Branna’s endless memories while her heart sparkled with her mother’s adventurous streak and her father’s determination. It was a dangerous and beautiful combination: being both so clever and also so headstrong.

Elsa chuckled, drawing Sophie’s attention. “You remind me of her, actually.” Elsa told her.

Her niece looked up at her, her eyes glowing. “Really?” Small flares of flames whispered around her feet. 

“Oh yes, your mother was just like you when she was your age.”

“What?!”

Elsa ruffled her hair, smiling fondly at the memories. “Yes, she used to crawl into my bed in the middle of the night and wake me up so we could build snowmen in the ballroom…”

“Like we do?”

Elsa bopped her on the nose. “Yes. Just like we do.” Anna had never lost her love of the northern lights and her desire to make mischief under their glow.

“And before you were born,” Elsa continued, “back when I was crowned, she ran off in the middle of my Eternal Winter to try to get me to come home.”  
Sophie’s eyes widened. “All by herself?”

“Yes. Without any gear or any kind of plan.”

“Whoa.” Sophie, of course, knew the story of the Eternal Winter (several versions, since Isen had conjured them as well) but Anna had decided that her daughter could be spared some of the more gruesome details of that adventure until the princess was older. They still weren’t quite sure how to reveal to Sophie that her beloved Uncle Hans had once left Anna to die out of a hunger for power and control.

“You’re a lot like Anna.” Elsa continued, smiling as reassuringly as she could. “She just doesn’t want you to repeat her mistakes.” _Or mine._

Sophie frowned, confused. “But why? Mom did all that and she saved Arendelle, and she’s fine.”

Elsa flinched involuntarily. Even years later, her actions around the Eternal Winter still hurt her to consider. For all the progress she’d made accepting her powers and her true identity, she’d never quite forgiven herself for what had happened on the fjord.

Elsa took a moment to think, trying to find the words that would impart the most meaning upon her young niece without making her see anyone in a bad light.

Sophie watched her, waiting silently for whatever wisdom Elsa had to offer her. “Because one day, you’re going to be Queen of Arendelle.” The Queen began, weighing each word carefully. “Everyone will rely on you to lead them and make the decisions that are best for them. Anna wants you to be better than she was, better than I am.” She tapped the girl’s forehead. “To lead with your heart and your head.”

Sophie stared at her wide-eyed and eager. But rather than anticipation of her future duty, she instead seemed to be pondering something.

“What about you?” The young princess finally asked. “Won’t you still be Queen?”

Elsa looked away. For a moment - just a moment - she had forgotten just how young her niece was. And how shielded from the horrors of the world she had been. “I’ll no longer be Queen.” She said matter-of-factly. “I’ll be gone.”

“Gone where?”

But Elsa hesitated; for all careful consideration of wisdom about being a queen, she was unsure how to voice to the naïve young girl that as humans, they would not live forever. Well…probably wouldn’t live forever. There was no way to know.

Elsa swallowed a sudden lump in her throat, her building headache reasserting itself.

The girl took her hand, the heat surprisingly soothing. “Where will you be, Elsa?” She asked softly. She looked at Elsa like she was her entire world.

Elsa managed a smile for her but couldn’t find the courage to say the words. “I’ll…be somewhere else. Somewhere where I can’t help you.” It was times like these that Elsa had the fleeting, deity-like wish that they had been born even a little closer in age. She hated to think that she would die years before Sophie and leave her all alone.

Sophie looked at the ground, still puzzled and now a little sad. “But I’ll still have Theo?” She asked softly, glancing back up at her aunt.

Elsa nodded, her head falling back against the tree behind her. “Yes…” It was just a given. Theo would always be around. They couldn’t get rid of her.

Sophie nodded, seeming reassured. “So she’ll protect me. She always does.” She let go of Elsa’s hand to return to her sculpting of the sand and snow around them. “This time she made it more than halfway across the palace before I started to fall! She’ll always be able to reach me when I’m in trouble.”

Elsa recalled the sickened look on the Guardian’s face, her strangled choking of Sophie’s name, and her in-humanly fast departure from the room. Theo may not have voiced it, but sensing and reacting to Sophie being in danger took some kind of physical toll on the Guardian. 

“Maybe, but Theo can’t be everywhere at once.” Elsa reminded her. She stood and moved to kneel beside Sophie, her hands cold against the warm sand. “What if she had been protecting me? Or helping Aunt Scara and Uncle Hans? Or been away training?”

“She would have made it to me.” Sophie assured her, putting absolute faith in the outcome of her experiment. She placed a small sand-hat on Helga’s head and stood back to admire her work. 

Elsa considered the multitude of bruises littering the Guardian’s body, the little wince at an unseen pain in her side, the silent way that she carried all her scars and everyday pains. 

They watched as the sun slowly descended past the wall of the palace, casting them both in shadow.

“But you’re not the only one who needs her.” She reminded the princess softly.

Sophie said nothing. She was focused so intently on Helga that in the blink of an eye, the sand-woman turned to glass.


	7. Time Flies Part 2

**CHAPTER 3: TIME FLIES**   
_Part 2_

**_Kingdom of Arendelle, Spring, 1821_ **

The shield spun through the air, its golden edge shimmering in the dull light from the torches. Half a second before it hit the ground, she snatched it from the air, whirled tightly and sent it flying like a discus at her opponent’s shins. The man had barely opened his mouth to yelp in pain when she was there, sending him flying backwards into the wooden fence with a well-placed body slam. He smashed right through it, landing in an unconscious heap.

Cries of elation and outrage roared through her battle fervor, breaking her focus. Theo took a deep breath and relaxed.

“First blood!” She called, even though it was unnecessary with her opponent lying unresponsive in a pile of wood. “Match set!” She bounced on the balls of her feet, the energy and thrill pulsating through her with each jump, shaking out the lingering tingles of discomfort from her shoulder.

“Come on boys!” Theo roared to the surrounding crowd. “Who’s next?”

Sounds of bickering and discontent reached her ears in an unintelligible rabble, men trying desperately to cover up their unwillingness to challenge her or their anger at losing a bet. Theo just grinned and jogged a lap around the ring.

The structure was crude and barely more than a reinforced sheep pen on the edge of the Southern district. But it served its purpose. Inside, on the sandy ground, men tangled and fought, eager to spill blood and perhaps win a little coin. Spectators came from all across the city to gamble, drink, and cheer on the brutes. A scarred, rickety table lay along one side of the ring, piled high with ledgers and attended by a sweaty, rotund accountant who handled more coin in these nights than he did in his daytime job. A second table sat opposite it, attended by a barmaid who was more often swatting men away from her liquor bottles and breasts than she was selling drinks.

It was the kind of place Theo despised: the rotten underbelly of an otherwise thriving nation. But this place was unfortunately, the only place she could get what she needed.

The men began to quiet down as bets were settled. Some jeered at her as she continued to prance around the ring. Others were moodily silent, glaring at her like she had offended them personally. Theo just turned an effortless one-handed cartwheel, ignoring the crowd.

Being the Guardian meant she had to be in prime fighting condition at all times. And she’d come into the job later than any Guardian she knew of. She had a lot of training and conditioning to make up for.

Months in the Mother’s Grove had taught her the basics and strengthened her muscles but refinement came from years of work. She couldn’t rely on the subconscious knowledge of Garret and all his predecessors to get her through fights. She needed more experience.

And now that she’d officially bested all of Arendelle’s guards, sailors, and hunters in fair combat, she needed something grittier. She needed a challenge.

Dagrun had been the one to tell her about this underground ring, a place where traveling sailors, tradesmen, and ruffians met to spend money, drink, gamble and most of all, watch each other fight. Many of the fights were clean tests of swordplay or strength meant only for sport. But every once in awhile, an illegal death match would be scheduled. Usually a grudge match or rival gangs declaring a champion. That was how she was going to prove herself. A death match.

“Where is this mighty fighter I hear so much about?” She taunted, leveling most of her comments towards her intended opponent. “Will he not defend his honor against me now that I have defeated his lieutenant?” She smirked directly at her target. “Or will he apologize for his comments about the Queen?”

An angry roar cut through the noise of the crowd. “I apologize for nothing Runt!”

The spectators parted like a wave, clearing a path for Theo’s mark. She smiled grimly.

Her opponent was an enormous man: a well-respected member of Arendelle’s fearsome Evigsmerte gang. He’d won several death matches in this ring already and had made quite a name for himself in the arena: Aosgv the Tormenter. Theo was planning to take it from him.

Aosgv entered the ring, flexing mightily to make his muscles strain. They were combat muscles, earned and conditioned from a lifetime of street fights and hard labor. Theo was somewhat envious. Her muscle was far leaner. Quicker but far less impressive. When she flexed, nobody swooned.

“You best be ready to die, Runt.” Aosgv said, literally ripping his shirt off of his body. “I don’t accept surrenders.” He drew a sword from his belt and twirled it in one hand.

Theo shrugged. “Neither do I. But apologies are a good start.” She rolled up her tunic sleeves and fell into a stance. The crowd quieted, everyone leaning forward to watch the duel begin. This kind of respect hadn’t always been afforded to her. In her first fight, she’d been spit on and cussed at for not only wearing her tunic, but also for her comparatively small stature. Most of the other fighters still called her “Runt”, as if it were some kind of insult. But after she’d pummeled the swordsman who had challenged her without getting so much as a scratch, the spitting had stopped.

Her appeal wasn’t that she was a woman. The old tunic she fought in hid the slight swell of her breasts rather well. She wasn’t even sure most of them knew she wasn’t a man. She’d gotten in the habit of tying her hair back in a long wolf’s tail for fights like this, a style half the guards used under their helmets. She’d never been asked her gender. So it wasn’t that.

No. People came to see her fight because of one thing: she always entered the ring unarmed. Well, as far as they knew. She wasn’t stupid. But she was good. That was why no one had ever guessed at the hidden knives she kept strapped to her calves and spine in case she were overpowered. She had taken on opponents twice her size who were armed tooth and nail and come out without a scratch.

But never in a death match.

The judges sounded the starting signal and Theo centered herself. _Priorities: nullify the sword, don’t get caught in his grip, win._

It was a testament to his skill that Aosgv did not immediately charge her as the bell sounded. He circled her like a dog, blade leveled. Theo had seen him do this dance before; waiting for the other to make the first move so that he’d have the advantage. It was a common tactic. But she had a less common counter.

Without warning, she charged him. His surprise only lasted an instant but it was all the head start she needed. He lowered his blade, probably expecting her to impale herself on it.

Mistake number one.

Instead of trying to hit him, Theo jumped. Before the man could adjust, she landed on his sword arm. A well-placed punch to his shoulder had him dropping the sword as his muscles rebelled. In one fluid motion, Theo back-flipped off of his chest, landed and kicked the still-falling sword to the side. It soared out of the ring, no longer viable for combat.

Theo smiled at the Tormenter as he flexed his hand. “No weapons please. We’re both civilized.” She spread her hands towards him, palms up. “Kill me with your bare hands.”

“With pleasure.” He snarled.

The bear of a man lunged for her and Theo began to evade. Everything relied on her staying just far enough away that he couldn’t get his arms around her. If she were caught in his grip, the battle was as good as lost.

The crowd cheered and chanted but it was all just background noise to her. Her battle fervor was starting, the strength and agility of past Guardians leaking into her muscles…

She rolled backwards as Asgov lunged for her, finding herself pinned against the arena wall. The man glowered at her, clearly thinking his fight was won. He reared back.

With agility she hadn’t had a minute ago, Theo braced her feet against the wall behind her and exploded forward. Her small form crashed into the man’s torso, forcing all the air from his lungs and making him stumble backwards. The guardian took this opportunity to land several quick hits on his chest and face.

Grinning, Theo made another explosive move, relishing the power in her form. This leap was aimed over her opponent’s shoulder to move the fight back into the center of the ring.

His hand grasped her ankle at the crest of her jump.

_Oh no._

With a roar, Aosgv threw her at the opposite wall like he was hefting a plank of wood. Disoriented, tumbling end over end, Theo tried to put herself upright as she fell. She met the arena wall before she could figure it out. 

It hurt. 

A lot.

“You cant evade me forever little spider!” Aosgv spat at her as the crowd cheered. “Face me like a man!”

Pushing broken slats of wood aside, Theo struggled back to her feet, her face stinging and a cut on her arm dripping a lazy line of blood. Shaking off the disorientation, she brought to mind the feel of a lash upon her back, the burning sensation of true agony…

This was the rush she needed. Her pain dulled and she turned back to the fight. Aosgv had been slowly approaching her as she had recovered, clearly thinking his battle was won. He lifted one huge fist and swung it at her, aiming to smash her face in.

Theo slid sideways, letting the attack pass her by less than an inch. She rolled as he stumbled and punched the back of his knee as hard as she could. He toppled like a tree, crying out in pain.

She was on him the second he rolled over, one knee already on his throat. He flailed wildly, trying to punch her but she caught it, holding him back with all her strength.

“ _No._ ” She could feel her eyes starting to burn. The bones in his wrist began to crunch under her grip. It was time to end this.

With a battle cry, she punched him hard in the face, breaking his nose. A gush of blood ran down his chin. With a well-placed kick, she knocked him out cold. As her opponent fell limp, she breathed a sigh of relief. “He cannot continue.” She declared. “The match is over.”

The arena was silent, the men all dumbstruck at the idea that a death match would not end with a body.

“You cant just do tha’!” One spectator shouted boldly.

“Are you his second?” Theo challenged him, panting. The energy of her predecessors still pulsed through her veins. “Will you step in to continue the fight?” She could feel her eyes glowing menacingly with otherworldly strength.

The man melted into the silent crowd instantly.

Theo gestured around the ring. “Will no one step up to continue the death match Aosgv the Tormenter promised me?”

Silence greeted her.

“Then I turn to the judges.” She leveled her gaze at three grizzled warriors at the bar: a retired pirate, a war hero with one leg, and a scarred hunter famed for bringing down a bear. All of them regarded her like one would a rabid wolf. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest.

_Please, please Great Mother…don’t make me have to kill him…_

One by one, each of the judges lifted their thumbs, pointing them to the sky. There was a resounding cry of disbelief from the crowd, drowning out the Guardian’s sigh of relief. The burning in her eyes faded.

With a nod, Theo walked towards the edge of the ring, her point made for the night. After four resounding victories and that surprising finish, she would get nothing else out of this place now. Catching her bag of winnings from the accountant, she whistled and immediately tossed it to the barmaid. “For your troubles, Clara.” The barmaid nodded her thanks.

Wincing at the injuries she’d ignored up till now, she made to jump out of the ring. Someone called into the silence, making her stop in her tracks. “Wait.”

Theo turned. A young man dressed in a rough, forest-green tunic had hopped the fence and entered the arena. He offered her only a challenging gaze.

“Are you up for one more fight?”

Theo took a step back to consider him. He barely looked older than twenty, his black hair loose and free about his slightly round face.

He carried no weapons.

“Do you wish to finish Aosgv’s fight?” She asked him as the fallen man’s men dragged him out of the hole in the wall.

The man didn’t even spare the body a glance. “Not at all.” He replied. “The man is no friend of mine.”

In one swift motion, the man lifted his tunic off, displaying an impressive set of toned abs and pectorals. Immediately, Theo recognized the muscles of an agile fighter. He didn’t flex or primp, falling immediately into a fighting stance.

“I just want to see what you can do.”

Intrigued, Theo moved to mirror him. There were hardly any practitioners of martial arts in Arendelle. Most who knew the skills of un-armed combat were only visitors to the city. She had yet to meet one in the ring.

The crowd ceased its murmuring and began to gather itself again, a few last-minute bets being thrown down.

“First blood?” Theo asked, circling him purposefully.

The man only nodded curtly, watching her intently.

The second the bell clanged, they darted at each other.

Theo was all repetition and swirling limbs as she blocked, parried, ducked, and threw various attacks. The challenger matched her beat for beat and blow for blow. Distant cheers reached her through her focus but they gradually faded. All of her attention was on her opponent.

He slid under her parry and tried to sweep her legs from under her. She leapt back, turning a single-handed cartwheel to put distance between them again. Rather than charging her, he held back, returning to circling.

Images and information filtered through Theo’s battle fervor. She recalled him always leading with his left and the care he took to protect that side. Perhaps it was a weakness, or an old injury.

Their audience was silent now, too focused on the fight to cajole or joke with each other.

Theo ignored all of them. She was fully in her zone now. The Guardians’ knowledge wasn’t flowing through her like it did during Aosgv’s fight. Now it was all her. All of her versus all of him.

Slowly, they moved closer to each other, their eyes snapping across each other’s forms like a predator scanning a landscape.

As they came close enough to smell each other’s sweat, Theo made her move. Her strike aimed for his chest, looking to knock the air from his lungs.

A slight glimmer of something caught her eye and she reacted mid-swing. Her back bent, the small blade in her opponent’s hand whistling past her face harmlessly. She followed his swing, grabbed him at the elbow and wrist and sent the blade spinning off to the side. It buried itself point-first in the sand.

Her quip about bringing a knife to a fistfight died in her throat as his other arm smashed into her shoulder, throwing her off-balance. She rolled as she fell, kicking up sand towards his face. The trick gave her a few precious seconds to get herself back on her feet.

_So all rules are off now?_ She eyed his form, trying to determine where he would hide knives. If he had one, there were definitely more. Her own blades tingled against her skin. She knew he knew where they were but she refused to draw them. She had a reputation to uphold here after all.

Changing tactics, she charged as he blinked the last of the sand from his eyes. She landed two hits on his knife arm and chest before his other hand snagged her wrist.

She twisted, pulling free and barely reacted in time to catch both of his fists as they came for her throat.

His hands strained against hers equally.

_Ambidextrous…_ Theo realized. That would make this fight very interesting indeed.

She threw him off, sliding past him and delivering a powerful strike to his left side. He crumpled, writhing in the sand, in seeming agony. Theo stood above him, panting, her face absolutely drenched in sweat.

“Do you concede?” She called into the silence.

Without warning, he whirled on the ground, kicking up a wave of sand and knocking her clean over on her back. She hadn’t even seen him move…!

Theo rolled and her opponent slammed into the sand next to her half a second later. He rose like a cat, already coiling to strike her again.

Flipping herself back onto her feet so fast that her head spun, Theo grabbed his left wrist and twisted. Pulling out a flawless Gauntlet’s Throw, she threw him over her shoulder and used the momentum to push herself away from him.

Theo dived across the ring, rolling as she landed, her hand closing around the object in the sand…

He was on her as she rose, a new blade already grasped in his hand. His eyes flashed as he reared back. They twisted, nearly in unison, arms extended…Theo could see her angle, see how hopeless trying to parry would be for either of them. Everything was in their attack. It was down to speed now: who could reach the other first?

Both stopped at the feel of frozen steel at their throats. Theo felt a shiver go through her. Here was a real opponent; the challenge she had so craved. And she’d matched him. Their strikes had been identical, right down to the second of contact. It was a stalemate.

But that was not why the fight had stopped. Ice coated the length of both their blades, dulling them considerably. They could not hurt each other.

A hush had fallen over the crowd and Theo had a pretty good idea why. She lowered her icy knife, slowly, to make sure her opponent was copying her action and turned around. Her breath misted in the air. Steam rose from her warm skin.

An absolutely livid Queen Elsa stood at the ring entrance.

A sheepish smile crawled across Theo’s face. “Oh.”

Elsa’s eyes shot to her at once. “Guardian,” she addressed Theo sharply. Theo snapped to attention at once and bowed respectfully. The room had broken out in angry mutterings at this revelation. Elsa didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Come with me.” Elsa commanded sharply. Then she turned on her heel and marched out, snow billowing through the muggy air of the ring.

Theo glanced at her opponent, nodding to him. He only inclined his head towards her, acknowledging her. They would fight again. They were both sure of it. She hoped her next death match could be against him.

Picking up her cloak from the edge of the ring, Theo grinned at the dumbstruck faces of the arena regulars, winked at the staring barmaid and followed Elsa out onto the street.

***

He watched the warrior leave with the queen.

So that was them.

Brasov caught his shirt from the man at the edge of the ring and tucked it under one arm, his eyes never leaving the retreating forms.

_The Child of the Mother…and her Shadow._

The others around the ring were beginning to mutter and grumble, obviously wondering what was to become of the ring now that the Queen had discovered its existence. 

“We could move back uptown…”

“Or out among the forest…”

“We can’t go anywhere! If the Queen’s little pet found us here, she’ll find us again…”

Ignoring their meaningless complaints, Brasov crossed to the bar and leaned against it. He waited patiently for the barmaid to notice him.

She seemed startled to see him. “C…can I get you anything…” She stammered, bustling up to him. Her eyes traced his sand-dusted chest and abs.

“Winter’s Ale.” He requested, leaning on the bar so that his arm muscles strained. The barmaid looked away, clearly flustered. He had no reaction.

“That was quite a fight…” the woman continued as she poured his drink. “I’ve never seen anyone match the Unarmed Runt like that. Normally he…” she shook her head to correct herself “…she never touches weapons in the ring.” She pushed the glass towards him.

Brasov held it but only took a measured sip. He was focused on how intently the girl was watching him swallow.

“I haven’t seen you before…” The poor woman continued, fiddling with her rag. “Are you new to Arendelle?”

“I visit occasionally.” He replied. “On business.”

“What kind of business?”

“Information.”

“Oh?” She blinked rapidly. “Anything I could help you with? We barmaids are…” Her eyes traced him again. “…rather good at gossip.”

He leaned forward over the bar, encouraging the barmaid to tilt her head towards his lips. “Tell me what you know about the one they call ‘The Queen’s Shadow’?”

The barmaid actually blushed at his low voice. “What would you like to know? Everyone’s got a theory about her…” She leaned forward further, her breasts straining against her dress, her eyelids fluttering like a moth’s wings. “Could take me… _hours_ to tell you _everything_.”

Brasov’s lips curled into a satisfied smile.

This was going to be easier than he had anticipated.

***

Theo followed Elsa, keeping a respectful distance as the Queen stalked through her kingdom back to the palace. She knew she should feel disappointed or ashamed at being caught, but her entire body was still humming with the adrenaline from the fight.

The only thing distracting her from her recent fights was the fact that she couldn’t help noticing the waves of anger and concern that were wafting off of her queen. Being the Guardian in such close proximity to Elsa for the past few years had made her a master of picking up on the Queen’s mood. It certainly helped that Elsa’s snow and ice tended to display her feelings. The piercing ice fractals splitting the warm air were certainly indicative of the Queen’s anger.

Weighing her options, Theo decided it might be time to say something. She lengthened her stride until she had caught up with the monarch. Elsa gave her a side-long glance but didn’t slow her pace. “It’s not as bad as you think…” Theo began gently.

“It looks pretty bad, Theo.” Elsa snapped, a biting chill following her words. “I just saw you about to kill some young man in that ring.”

“It wasn’t a death match, we would have stopped at first blood.” Theo pointed out. “You missed the death match.”

Elsa turned on her abruptly. “No, I didn’t.” She practically snarled. “I saw you ready to kill him as well.” A large icicle dripped from the roof over their heads. Elsa didn’t seem to notice that she’d all but pinned the Guardian against the alley wall. Less than two feet of space separated them. “I’d have stepped in if the judges hadn’t intervened.”

Theo ignored the icicle and the proximity as best she could. She tilted her head at Elsa. “You saw me fight Aosgv?” She hadn’t noticed this time. Who knew all it took for Winter to sneak up on her was a satisfying distraction?

Elsa didn’t seem to realize the implications behind her words. “Yes. What of it?” She pressed, unconsciously leaning just the slightest bit closer.

Theo’s face split open with pride. “So you just…watched me fight?” Her smirk was growing.

Elsa flushed, her entire face and neck turning a brilliant shade of red. She took a half step away from the Guardian, seemingly just noticing the lack of space between them. “Why were you there, Theo?” She demanded, trying to cover up her fluster as Theo stifled an undignified laugh. “Why did Reba have to tell me where you were?”

The Guardian rolled her eyes. “I knew she set that raven of hers to follow me…” One of these days she’d have to remind the spy master that certain things were private.

Elsa was still staring at her, expecting an answer. “Well? Why were you there?” She was still only two feet away from Theo. 

Theo figured there was no point in lying. 

“It’s training.”

“It’s foolish.” Elsa spat.

“I need the constant challenge to be sure I can protect you and Sophie from anything.” Theo reasoned. Meeting Elsa’s eyes, she slid past her and began to walk again. Her eyes darted to every shadow, caught every detail. It was late and the Queen couldn’t be wandering around the streets. Particularly not these streets. Theo glared at an older man watching them pass until he ducked out of sight.

Elsa followed her, her anger even more palpable on the wind.

“So I’ll arrange more _non-lethal_ training sessions with the guards! You don’t have to seek out dangerous situations.” She hissed at Theo as they crossed the divide between the southern district and the upper merchant district.

A subtle sigh of relief loosened the tension in Theo’s shoulders. “Well I can hardly go back now…you just blew my cover.” She informed Elsa, over her shoulder.

“Good.” Elsa declared. “Because I was one step away from banning you from ever going back there.”

Theo whirled around at that, emboldened by their proximity to the safety of the palace and her own confidence-boosting wins that night. “It may surprise you to learn this, but we just walked out of the place containing the citizens of this nation who would most like to see you dead, without a scratch. All because of my reputation.”

Elsa glared back, snow swirling tightly around her. “ _We_ should not have even been there.” 

They stood there for a long moment, breathing the same crisp air as their eyes fought for dominance. Theo could feel her heart thrumming in her chest, that empowering feeling of having her temper entirely under her control whizzing across her skin. She tried vainly to tamp down the swirl of satisfaction accompanying it that Elsa was so clearly rattled by this.

The Queen clenched her fist and took a deep breath, gritting her teeth and waving at the snow to make it vanish.

“I don’t want you to endanger your life that again." She told her. “Or participate in any death matches again. That is an order.”

“I will if I have to. I don’t have a choice.”

Elsa’s angry composure broke. She stared at Theo the same way she had before she’d ordered the lashings. It was her only look that could completely disarm the Guardian.

Perhaps it was the wrong choice of words. It wasn’t so much that she was destined to die for them if necessary. It was that any alternative was unthinkable. 

Theo turned away, walking softly until she heard Elsa follow her.

They crossed silently into the palace, using one of Reba’s secret passageways to emerge in the kitchens. Theo immediately went to a well-stocked cupboard and retrieved various salves, rags, and bandages. Removing her soiled shirt at last, she set about cleaning the several wounds and bruises the night had granted her. A graze on her lower back from when Aosgv had thrown her burned particularly badly as she stretched to reach it.

It took her a few minutes to realize that Elsa had not departed. The Queen was staring at Theo’s exposed back, the multitude of thin scars there glowing in the faint lantern light. She flushed and looked at the door as Theo met her gaze.

“Good night, my Queen.” Theo said to her by way of dismissal. She would have never spoken to the Queen in such a way in public. But when they were alone, old habits tended to crop up. Like their traditional good nights.

Elsa backed away. At the doorway, she paused and whispered her line.

“Good night…Theo.”

The door shut between them, shielding both of them from seeing the expression on the other’s face.

Theo cleaned her many cuts and scrapes, the treatments well engrained in her post-fight routines by now. But every time she accidentally brushed one of those years-old scars on her back, a deep unsettling shiver ran through her. 

***

After a fitful night of sleep, Elsa awoke to the crushing reminder that her monthly court meeting she’d delayed yesterday was to take place today.

_I suppose I cant push it back again._ She thought, sipping her morning cup of tea in bed. _Maybe Theo would orchestrate a distraction for me._ But then she recalled what had transpired the night before and grimaced. _Then again, maybe not._

She always felt terrible after an argument with the Guardian. Whether from their bickering past when Theo had been Branna’s host or just her lingering guilt, Elsa left such arguments with a hollow pit in her stomach and a torrent of thoughts in her mind.

_This time it was her fault._ She argued with herself as she dressed in her most conservative court dress and made her way towards her meditation spot in the garden. _What was she thinking? Street fighting? Gamboling? Cavorting with the worst of my subjects?_

She didn’t notice the swirl of snow following her through the castle as her thoughts remained on the Guardian.

_She cant do things like that. Her reputation around here is fragile. If people found out she was…brawling…it would undo my years of work to get the people to accept her._

It hadn’t exactly been easy to integrate Theo into Arendelle. For the first year, she barely left the palace, unless Elsa was there to supervise. Even then, the people eyed her warily, some even outright refusing the Guardian’s help. It had been Kristoff’s idea to have Theo aide in reconstructing the homes lost during the Battle. Ice houses were only comfortable for so long and the residents wanted their return to normal, wooden homes. Theo had taken to the request eagerly and often spent whole afternoons away from the palace, sawing and hefting planks into place to rebuild a home she had burned. Elsa had to admit, with Theo’s help, the reconstruction had gone faster than expected and several of the townsfolk had stopped spitting in the Guardian’s face when she passed. It had been a start. Since then, it had been a daily struggle to bring the woman further into city life. She attended all royal functions and had a few contacts outside the palace. But to a majority of the city, she was still on thin ice. Metaphorically. 

Elsa lowered herself to the ground alongside the tree where she and Sophie had been playing the day before, settling herself easily into her meditation position.

At least she wouldn’t have to see the Guardian until later today. Today was Theo’s day to tutor Sophie.

Taking a deep breath, Elsa settling into her daily memory sorting exercise. Her ice palace rose in her mind’s eye, glowing a faint orange color like the sun was rising against it. Like she did every morning, Isen crossed into it and made her way to her Mirror to observe the storm of thoughts outside. 

_What do we have today?_

The memories swirled and gathered into another story of her long past:

**_Eirwen had been an adventurous host. She’d come to the temple later in life than most hosts did, having successfully hidden her powers amid the frequent snowstorms of her mountain home. Because of her Sami heritage, she’d been comfortable moving across dangerous landscapes, especially the enormous glaciers, where she reveled in secretly using her powers to skate down the mountain side. The avalanche had been an accident, after a beating from her father and she’d trapped herself in a snow cave, far from any possible hope of rescue, her own cold only sealing her tighter inside._ **

**_It had been her Guardian, Baelfyre the Tragic who found her and dug her out. He had moved nearly a ton of snow to free her, soothing her softly as he did, so that her fear would not make his task harder. At the end of it, Eirwen had had to carry the exhausted warrior down from the mountain, navigating easily on her sled and listening to his stories of her sister hosts and the temple where they lived away from the cruel world…_ **

_Theo has gotten much stronger…_

Elsa opened her eyes, angry at the passing thought. Her concentration well and truly shattered by now, she leaned back on her hands, staring up at the sky. Between Sophie rushing recklessly about and Theo gleefully tossing herself into danger, there was too much on her mind to focus on her 68th generation host and her glacier sledding.

_What am I going to do with them both?_

“Hurry Theo!”

“I am. You’re the one leading; lead on!”

The nearby voices of the two currently occupying her thoughts made Elsa grimace. She looked around the tree, spotting the bobbing head of her niece and the slightly less energetic mane of hair that was Theo’s. 

“Come OONNNNNNNNN!” Sophie whined, and Elsa smelled a woody scent like a summer campfire. “We have to get to the beach so I can try it again!”

“If you’re so concerned with getting there fast, we _could_ race there.”

“Fine! I’ll win!”

There was rushing sound, as if Sophie had sent a burst of flame to life. 

Elsa saw her niece’s head bob upwards slightly higher than usual then fall out of sight. “Oops!” Sophie grunted as if she had tripped. “It didn’t work, Theo!”

“Sophie,” Came Theo’s reliable deadpan, “how many times do I have to tell you…it’s ignite first, jump second!” She stooped down and when she straightened up, Sophie was thrown over her shoulder. “Now come on my goddess…the sands of time yield for no being!”

Cackling, Theo took off sprinting through the garden, Sophie sitting on her shoulder and laughing along with her. Elsa watched them until they disappeared beyond the oaks, half of her wanting to smile and the other half deeply concerned. 

Maybe it was best that she never knew what Theo and Sophie did when they were alone together. She’d probably only worry more if she did.

Elsa sighed, standing up and brushing off her dress.

Time for a court meeting…

***

The royal court met fairly frequently, usually for issues of trade, diplomatic relations, or the ins and outs of running Arendelle. The ancient governing documents of the small nation had set precedence that law would not be dictated by the reigning monarch but rather established by a council of elites that brought perspectives from all corners of the kingdom to said monarch for approval.

Her father had had a rather large court, including many diplomats mostly there for political favors. He had reduced his court somewhat after closing the gates but still kept it fairly sizable. 

Elsa, on the other hand, preferred to keep her court small. At first it had been because of her aversion to people and initial need to hide her powers. But as she had grown into her crown, she’d come to learn that too many voices just made negotiating more difficult. So she sought input from everywhere. But votes on her council were limited to the 7 political appointees granted a seat by her: the Lord and Lady Ardunna, Duke Percival, Bishop Tyr, General Wulfric, Admiral Westergard, and Master Tyron. 

Anna of course, also had a seat and a vote but she had begged out of today’s meeting. Presumably because she had business to attend to with Dagrun and Reba. What that business was, Elsa didn’t know. Yet.

Theo was absent from her usual spot behind Elsa’s left shoulder. But today, that gave Elsa some comfort. At least she didn’t have to feel the woman’s silent eyes on her throughout this meeting.

“…anything to add, your Majesty?”

Elsa blinked, trying to hide the fact that she’d only been half-listening. “…Yes, make sure the tax code includes a break for families who adopt an orphaned child.”

Her fellows nodded in agreement and approval, Lady Ardunna scratching out diligent notes on their decisions. She nodded to her husband when finished and Lord Ardunna tucked his financial ledger under his arm. 

“Good. With tax review all finished…”

Elsa suppressed an eye roll. _FINALLY_. The Lord of the Treasury was dull but at least he was thorough.

“…we can move on to our domestic issues…” 

Elsa glanced at the clock on the wall. Sophie and Theo would be finishing up with their “lesson” soon. So would Anna with her business. She sat forward and graciously accepted the report Lady Ardunna handed her. At least domestic issues weren’t utter drudgery like tax review. This shouldn’t take too long.

Master Tyron, at a nod from the Lord Ardunna, stood to give his verbal report. Though not without an ostentatious flip of his cape first.

“My fellow Arendellians, my network has been combing the kingdom and we are happy to report that the northern border and sea channels are clear of raiders and pirates for the first time in decades. Closer to home, however, there is a new issue of concern. Immigrants from Weselton have been reported in our port…”

“Refugees.” Elsa corrected him, turning over Master Tyron’s report. It was disappointingly sparse.

“What?”

“They are economic refugees.” Elsa clarified. “Families who have come to Arendelle seeking work. They are not a threat.”

Reba had given her her own report last night (right before the warning about Theo’s little…hobby). The Ears had been noticing this for days and Elsa had already gleaned more information from them than Master Tyron seemed able to share. 

Master Tyron seemed puzzled by her nonchalance. For once, the dramatic man seemed at a loss.

Duke Percival spoke into the silence. “Your Majesty, surely we cannot allow these people entry into our kingdom…”

“Why not?” Elsa asked, turning to him. “They are families looking for work. We have the work, we need the workers. If they are willing, why not let them stay?”

The Duke had been a holdover from her father’s council, someone she’d relied on for experience and stability over the rough transition into her reign. But as the years had progressed, she questioned his continued presence, as he often acted as if his age and position granted him more sway over her. 

The older man shook his head. “Queen Elsa…the economics of such an influx…”

“I am aware of the economics of the situation, Duke Percival.” Elsa returned, not liking the tone of his voice. “The economics are not my concern. If parents are willing to uproot their whole lives to move to Arendelle to work, I doubt they have much desire to uproot themselves again to return to the place they left if work remains here.”

“But these workers will merely be sending their money back to Weselton…” Lord Ardunna pointed out. “Taking our resources to bring more of their family here.”

“I fail to see an argument against them in that statement…” Lady Ardunna murmured, loud enough that only half the table heard her.

“I am not going to prevent someone from supporting their family simply because said family lives in that deplorable country.” Elsa replied. She noticed Bishop Tyr, the Admiral, and Wulfric nodding in agreement, although they said nothing.

Duke Percival shifted, drawing all eyes back to him. “Perhaps you should…”

Elsa struggled to keep from snapping at the man. “Why?” 

“Any advantage we send to them, they will use against us eventually.” The Duke pointed out. “We are safer if we shut them out.”

The whole table was watching Elsa as she sat straighter and focused her piercing gaze on the man. “They will use the wages of a few desperate families against us? I have enough faith in Arendelle that we could weather such a threat.” She waved a hand to dismiss the issue. “The families stay, unless they can be connected to any kind of illicit activities or they are not willing to work a fair job.” She nodded at Master Tyron but knew he would be of little help. Reba and her network was who she trusted on this matter. The poor man sat down, the wind well and truly taken from his sails. 

“What is next?” Elsa asked the room.

Lord Ardunna sighed heavily. “Weselton again…my queen.”

Elsa wanted to put her head down and groan. But she settled instead for briefly closing her eyes before indicating that he should carry on.

“It appears that they are still…not over the severance of trade.”

“The Duke is sending threats again…” Duke Percival continued, shaking his head over several documents he held.

Elsa waved a hand. “Let him. It’s all they can do.”

Lord Ardunna considered her with a raised eyebrow. “You will not reconsider lifting the sanctions?”

Elsa looked him straight in the eye and felt a flicker of satisfaction when he flinched. “They tried to murder me. Such failures of diplomacy are not easily forgotten.”

“You lifted the sanctions on North Melonia some time ago.” Percival pointed out.

“Their transgression was incidental.” Elsa argued, “And Lord Wilfred did come to me on hands and knees begging to pay retribution. I would say our relations with them have only improved as a result, no?”

Her court exchanged glances, murmurs of agreement passing between them.

Elsa glanced at the clock again. It was time. “Now, if that is everything, I think it is time we adjourn.” She made as if to leave.

“One final thing, Your Majesty.” Bishop Tyr called, before she could stand. “Several of us spoke during your absence yesterday and we had one more item we wished to bring to your attention.”

Elsa glanced at him, puzzled. “What is it concerning?” The Bishop hardly ever brought up issues at meetings, he preferred to only offer his counsel and advice when necessary.

“Concerning…” the Bishop glanced around, clearly hoping someone would rescue him from this task. None of his peers answered his silent plea. “…well, you.” He finished.

Elsa frowned. “What about me?”

Percival jumped in then, almost as if he had been waiting for her cue. “Your longevity and…the line of succession.”

Elsa’s interest immediately faded. _This again._ She leaned back in her chair. “We already discussed this when the princess was born: the line will pass through Anna and then her.” It only seemed right that Branna should rule after Isen. And it was hardly unconventional to have her niece inherit the throne after her.

There was a general nod of consensus around the room. “Yes, that’s all well and good,” Percival continued. “but, we felt that we should discuss another…more interim measure in the event of…unforeseen circumstances…”

Elsa narrowed her eyes. “I’m not planning on dying anytime soon…”

“No one plans on dying, Your Majesty.” Percival dipped his head. “Your parents – God rest their souls – certainly didn’t.”

Despite her years of court manners, Elsa flinched. “If you have a point Percival, see that you make it soon.” She growled, brushing away the few snowflakes that had landed on the table.

Percival sighed. “Very well. We all…”

Bishop Tyr pointedly cleared his throat. General Wulfric rolled his eyes.

“Many of us,” Percival amended. “believe that it is time you took a husband.”

“I wasn’t aware anyone was giving them away.” Elsa replied drily.

_Good Gods, I sound like Theo._

“With all due respect, this is no laughing matter your Majesty.” Admiral Westergard put in sternly.

“I am aware.” Elsa replied, trying not to snap at the man for his patriarchal tone. “I just see no reason for this proposal.”

Master Tyron took that moment to voice his thoughts. “Surely you can see that having a king at your side presents a more powerful image to the world? Our enemies would perceive it as strength.”

“I have my whole family behind me, I feel that that is power enough.” Elsa replied in a tone that could only be described as icy. She could feel a thin layer of ice crawling along the underside of the table. “I care little for what the world perceives of me.” Why she kept the man in her court, she questioned every day. Reba did 5 times the work he did and few even knew she existed.

“You should care more.” Lady Ardunna spoke quietly. Elsa turned to her, her face incredulous with the betrayal from her own sex. The Lady did not look up from her notes but spoke clearly and matter-of-factly. “Arendelle has only had one other queen anointed before marriage: Igraine the First. And, as you’ll surely remember, her reign preceded the War of the North. Her maidenhood was seen as a weakness and was exploited by friend and foe alike.”

“She also had no family to speak of, disbanded most of her council, and left about a dozen broken hearts in her wake.” Elsa pointed out. “And last I checked, she also wasn’t in possession of the powers of winter. I think my reign so far has already proven less volatile than hers.”

There was an uncomfortable shuffling at the table but none rose to Elsa’s challenging statement. The Freeze and the Battle were not often brought up.

Elsa kept a firm hold on her temper; if the temperature in the room dropped noticeably, they’d use it against her.

“All the same, your Majesty…” The Admiral began gently, “a union of any kind will only strengthen the kingdom…especially if an advantageous union can be arranged…”

Elsa said nothing, letting her icy glare speak for itself. The frost under the table thickened.

To his credit, the man didn’t hesitate to continue, “Unwed Queens are unusual, your Majesty and through no fault or shortcoming of your own, looked down upon by the world.” 

Lord Ardunna nodded his agreement. “The only reason you were crowned before marriage was because of the circumstances of your parents’ deaths, God rest their souls.” He bowed his head slightly. “The people demanded a ruler, married or not.”

Elsa rounded on him, trying desperately to not impale him on an icicle. “Are they displeased with a ruler who continues to remain unwed?”

Lord Ardunna fumbled slightly, put off by her question. “Well, I cannot speak for the people your Majesty but…”

“Then don’t.” Elsa snapped, rising to her feet. “When I _choose_ to marry, I shall inform you thusly and adjust my line of succession accordingly. I will not be traded or bartered away to the highest bidder to appease the likes of you or anyone foolish enough to think me weak because I rule alone. Good day gentlemen, Lady Ardunna…”

The others quickly scrambled to their feet to bow as she took her leave, Duke Percival just a half-step slower than the others.

Elsa made for the door, her stride regal and uncompromising. But while her face and even the snow around her projected nothing but roiling anger, inside, she was strangely calm.

She had said “ _when_ ”. And though she may have only spoken it subconsciously, to the advisors in that room, that was as good as a Royal Decree of Intent.

***

In the adjoining room (with the favorable acoustics that allowed an eavesdropper to hear everything in the surrounding three rooms) the eavesdroppers straightened up as the sound of chairs scraping floated through the air.

The Guardian nodded to the Spy Master and the two went their accustomed separate ways: the soldier crossing to the far room to avoid the Queen and the child slipping through the false wall to return to her mysterious duties.

As Theo walked, she carefully rearranged her face to show no reaction to what she had just heard. She recalled her time spent with Sophie that morning and managed to conjure up the elation of having just returned from that task, so no one, not even Elsa, would suspect she had been listening in. But she could not keep the simmering feeling in her chest from curling all around her insides and making her feel as if all the cold had been sucked from her life once again. She clenched her left forearm tightly and bit her tongue. Her angry footsteps echoed through the empty halls as she moved away from Elsa. The front doors of the palace screeched as she threw them open and vanished into the city.

Arendelle would have a king sooner than she’d feared.

***

**_Kingdom of Arendelle, Summer, 1815_ **

Anna had tried to tell Elsa that she didn’t _need_ an over-the-top celebration every year for her birthday. She would much rather the attention be focused on the kingdom. But Elsa would be Elsa and no matter how many years had passed since she’d frozen her heart, her sister still insisted that each birthday be better than the last. Anna knew it was Elsa’s way of trying to make up for the shortcomings of their childhood. So she played along every year; and only stepped in when Elsa clearly went too far.

The princess smoothed down her dress, her arms unsure of what to do now that she didn’t have her 1-year-old daughter in them.

“Sophie is fine Anna.” Anna looked up at her sister, grimacing that her thoughts had been so plain on her face. “Kristoff promised that he would look after her all day. You deserve some time to yourself.”

“I know, and I’m grateful,” Anna began, “but I just cant stop worrying! What if Kristoff forgets where her favorite fireproof blanket is? What if she misses me and Kristoff cant get her to calm down? What if…!”

Elsa took Anna’s hand, gently silencing her anxious tirade. “It will be fine.” She assured her. “Now come on, your birthday surprise is at the harbor!” Elsa winced slightly, the signs of a stress headache clear on her face.

Anna tried to calm down for Elsa’s sake (her sister still had that bad habit of overworking herself while planning her birthdays), but her heart was still back at the castle with her husband and daughter. “Elsa, you know I love these birthday surprises. But…”

Elsa glanced back at her, her brow creased with concern.

Anna sighed heavily. “Does Theo have to be here?” The Guardian was a mere twelve steps behind them, silently tailing them, one hand on one of her innumerable hidden knives.

Elsa peered behind them, seemingly gauging just how loudly she could talk so Theo wouldn’t hear her. “She just follows me. I don’t tell her when to do so.” She admitted to Anna in a low voice. “I could tell her to leave but she’d just follow us out of sight instead.”

Anna frowned at her sister. “How do you know that?”

Elsa just shook her head, a faint blush running across the bridge of her nose.

Anna glanced back at Theo again, this time finding the woman watching her. “Want to try to lose her?” She muttered, grinning mischievously.

“It wont work…” Elsa warned her.

They entered the crowded streets of the newly-finished banking district, where the last of Elsa’s ice buildings were lying in blocks along the edge of the roads. The thirsty crowds were drawn to them, filling cups with the melt water or just soaking in the cooler air the blocks provided. Anna watched carefully, waiting for the perfect moment when the crowd was _just_ thick enough…

As a large man stepped between the sisters and the Guardian, Anna made her move. “Come on,” Anna abruptly changed direction, tugging Elsa down a back alley that cut along the edge of the marketplace and crossed into the eastern edge of the artisan district.

The two sisters darted down the row of shops, feeling more like children than royalty at the act.

“Anna, why are we running?” Elsa asked, lagging behind her sister slightly.

Anna didn’t answer, she was too busy tugging her reluctant sister down more shortcuts, weaving their way towards the harbor.

“We did it!” She cried in triumph as they crossed onto Fleet Street. The harbor was just ahead, around the corner.

Anna took it at a run, euphoric, Elsa two steps behind her. Then she skidded to a halt, utterly dumbfounded.

A scowling Guardian stood waiting for them at the end of the street, leaning on a streetlamp and tapping her foot.

“How is that even possible?” Anna exclaimed, dropping Elsa’s hand in exasperation. “Do you have tracking magic or something?”

Theo just continued staring at her, expression unchanged.

Anna groaned loudly. “FINE. We’ll be good.” She sulked like a scolded child, leading the way towards the harbor.

Elsa chuckled sympathetically. “I told you…”

Out of the corner of her eye, Anna saw Theo bow deeply to Elsa. Anna huffed loudly. “What if _I_ asked her to leave? Would she leave then?”

Elsa and the Guardian looked at each other, as if unsure who should have final say over the matter. Their silent understanding made something in Anna’s heart tighten uncomfortably. 

“Could you…give us a minute?” Elsa eventually asked, wincing again (although Anna suspected that this time it was more out of regret than pain). 

Giving her sister a _look_ , Anna took a few steps away, looking out over the coast and the pier for a hint of what Elsa had planned for them today.

“Please.” She heard Elsa begging Theo in an undertone. “Just for a bit. We’ll be fine, the Navy is there as well as some palace guards. What could happen?”

Anna glanced back, seeing Theo’s gaze drop in acquiescence. She smirked to herself. Freedom!

Elsa rejoined her as Theo stayed behind, pointed looking away from the royal sisters.

Anna took her sister’s hand and squeezed it in reassurance. “Thank you…” She told her. It felt so much better when it was just the two of them again.

“I cant promise she wont still follow us…” Elsa reminded her as they turned the corner and Theo fell out of sight. They crossed towards the water, the crowds thinning.

“Isn’t she like, honor-bound to obey you?” Anna inquired. “You know…since the whole…” She pantomimed latching her lips shut.

A flicker of discomfort passed over the Queen’s face. “She can disobey my orders if my life is at risk.”

“What does she consider a risk?”

Elsa just shrugged. As a large ship came into view though, her sister utterly transformed, excitement shooting through her. “Here we are!” She exclaimed, tiny fractals of ice splitting the air around her. 

Anna laughed, always entertained and enthralled by the way Elsa seemed to rarely notice how her powers reacted to her positive emotions.

Elsa tugged her along, drawing them past a small crowd of people watching the ship curiously. Several of them called out to the sisters as they passed. Anna waved back but Elsa’s full focus was on the ship itself.

“It’s just up…”

Elsa stumbled suddenly, fingers at her temples. “My…my head…” With a cry, the Queen fell to the stones, ice shooting up around her, weaving in between the stones and cracking the street. The crowd pushed forward, as if to help but many drew back as the ice expanded. 

“Elsa!” Anna sprinted forward, aiming for the man still slinking out of the crowd, his eyes intent on the fallen queen. She knew that look, even without seeing the blade in his hand.

Anna slammed into him, throwing her shoulder into his chest and pushing him away from her sister. He recovered quickly, too quickly, and charged at her instead. 

She saw the knife flashing and her training kicked in. Her hand went to her belt but gripped only air. _Her sword._ It was back at the castle…!

Anna threw herself backwards to avoid the glinting edge of the assassin’s knife. She stumbled in her skirts (forever cursed with klutziness!) and fell on the stones.

The man advanced on her, eyes full of murderous intent…Elsa was still collapsed on the stones, holding her head.

Anna scrambled for something, anything within reach that could be used to defend herself. There was nothing. This was it.

She forced her eyes to stay open as the man struck. _I’m sorry, Sophie…_

The knife stopped an inch from her throat.

“What the…?” The assassin’s eyes darted around in confusion. Anna, however, peered behind him.

His tunic was fisted in someone’s hand, preventing him from closing the gap and slicing her neck open.

The would-be attacker followed her gaze and froze when he saw what she did.

Theo was crouched behind him; having appeared from Gods-knew where and apparently stopped him at just the last second. The Guardian’s glare pierced the assassin, all fire and rage and strength. Every muscle in her body was taut and pronounced. Her hair seemed to dance in a charged wind. Her eyes glinted with silver fire. In that moment, Anna was more terrified of her than the man who had the knife at her throat.

With seemingly little effort, Theo twisted her arm and the assassin followed, slamming down on the road to lay still and sprawled on the stones. Her body uncoiled, her foot slamming down on his neck. He choked, gasping soundlessly.

A knife shot to Theo’s hand from one of her innumerable hidden sheaths. Her eyes had no compassion as they gazed upon the man under her boot. 

Ice engulfed her hand as she swung down. As always, it glanced harmlessly off of her, barely containing her for a second. But it did stop the Guardian from striking. She glanced to the right.

Elsa lowered her hand, still sprawled on the stones. “Theo, stop…please…stop.” She pleaded. 

The woman panted, her burning eyes darting between Elsa and the man on the ground.

“We’re all safe.” Elsa assured her. “You can stop.”

Trembling violently, the Guardian punched the ground, her fist slamming straight through the stones alongside her victim’s head. The assassin whimpered as she pulled her hand away.

Theo breathed heavily, slowly coming back to herself. Anna swore she saw a flicker of fear cross the warrior’s face as she closed her eyes. But her terrifying rage faded and she stepped back, leaving the assassin to Elsa’s mercy.

Elsa immediately froze the man. “Take him to the dungeon.” She commanded the approaching Arendelle guards. “We will deal with him later.” She ran to Anna, gathering her up in a tight embrace.

“I’m so sorry! I should have stopped him sooner; I forgot you didn’t have your sword! I…”

Anna hugged her back, trying desperately not to cry. “Just another memorable birthday, huh?” She joked.

Elsa let out a watery chuckle, helping Anna to her feet. “I swear this wasn’t the surprise…”

Anna forced a laugh, but her gaze was drawn to the Guardian. Theo was staring at the place where her punch had broken a cobblestone clean in quarters, her face clouded and eyes darting. Her bleeding fist was trembling noticeably, even as she clenched it tightly. One could tell she was thinking, but of course, they’d never know what about.

Anna had the strangest sensation to ask her to share her thoughts, to command her to speak for the first time in almost two years. But she didn’t. Only Elsa had that power.

Theo glanced up, briefly meeting Anna’s gaze. In an instant, her face was clear and lowered. Theo bowed to Anna, dipping as low as she would have if she’d been bowing to Elsa.

Then Anna understood. Her heart clenched in trepidation.

_She’s not just here for the spirits. I’m under her protection now too. And her power could overwhelm me in an instant if she’s provoked._

But seeing the woman prostrated before her, obedient and placid, her frustration with the Guardian thawed ever so little. She motioned for her to rise.

“Thank you, Theonia.” She shuddered in fear, but covered it up by taking Elsa’s hand again. “For everything.”

***

**_Kingdom of Arendelle, Spring, 1821_ **

A slight poke to her ribs roused Anna from her thoughts. “Anna? You okay?”

The princess shook herself back to the present, a flush of discomfort overcoming her as she realized where her mind had wandered. 

“I’m fine.” She told Kristoff, perhaps a little too insistent. He merely gave her a raised eyebrow. Their work for the day was complete, having visited the Queen’s Orphanage on the east side of the city to rectify some management conflicts Reba had brought to Anna’s attention. Now, the married couple was passing along the same stretch of docks where all those years ago, Theo had saved Anna’s life. Anna huffed in irritation as she stepped over a set of cobblestones that were distinctly newer than the ones around them. They continued on their way back to the palace, following a similar route to the one Anna and Elsa had walked all those years ago.

Anna didn’t like to think about everything she owed Theonia. But sometimes the thoughts came unbidden and she begrudgingly recounted every time the woman had saved her life, her daughter’s, or her sister’s. Between the two of them, Theo was racking up quite the accumulation of favors Anna felt she owed her. Not that the Guardian had ever indicated she wanted to be compensated…but still.

“Were you thinking about the chandelier?” Kristoff asked. He always knew when she was upset.

“No…” Anna admitted. 

“About Sophie then?”

“Not exactly…”

“About Theo?” 

“…Yes.” She stopped and looked up. “Remember that time she saved my life on my birthday?”

Kristoff grimaced. “And broke her hand?”

Anna had almost forgotten that bit. “Yes…I just…” She sighed. “I wish I could trust her, Kristoff…but then she goes off and has Sophie jumping off of balconies and sliding down sand mountains and setting the banisters on fire and I just…” She glared. “I just cant.”

Kristoff placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and she let him pull her against him. “I know.” He told her. “It’s hard for me sometimes too.”

“But she never tried to kill you!” Anna insisted, “or hurt your sister…wait.” She paused, her brow wrinkling. “You dont have a sister…she never tried to hurt your…Sven?”

Kristoff smiled at her scrunched face. “No.” He tapped her forehead until she relaxed. “But she hurt _you_. But it’s been years Anna and she’s given me no new reasons not to trust her.” 

“She’s constantly putting our daughter in dangerous situations!”

“And she’s constantly saving her from them.” Kristoff pointed out. “And look at our daughter. She’s happy and free and…well she’s a little reckless but she’s only 6. And she was bound to be reckless with parents like us.”

They crossed back into the palace, entering the eastern courtyard.

“But I just want her to be safe…” Anna insisted. “You know what her powers could do…I mean…look at what Elsa’s did when she was scared.” She gestured back towards the city. “Look at what Theo did when she was angry! And sure, the kingdom has accepted Elsa for who she is and they know about Sophie’s powers but the scars are so deep, what if they…”

Kristoff caught her flailing arm, stilling her ramble. “We cant ask her to not feel anything, Anna.” he said, as gently as he could. 

Even though she knew he didn’t mean it to, Anna still flinched. “No…but shouldn’t we remove any dangerous situations from around her?”

Silence fell between them, Kristoff stroking her hand gently as he considered his answer. Their ice bangles, a gift from Elsa on their wedding day, stretched and grew together until they formed a single, infinite loop.

“I guess…” Kristoff finally said, “…we’ll just have to hope she learns to be more cautious as she grows up.”

Anna nodded but privately, her thoughts returned to Theo. Would Sophie ever learn caution with Theo around? She shuddered as a darker thought occurred to her. _Would she ever learn caution without an accident?_

Both of them turned the corner, anxious faces melting into smiles as they saw their daughter sitting on a bench in the courtyard. But as they drew closer, Anna felt her smile fade. A thin ring of smoke was curled tightly around the girl and a sweltering heat wave pressed from her, even at a distance. Her head was lowered and she swung her feet sadly back and forth.

Anna’s heart tightened. She remembered a great many days when she had been Sophie’s age, sitting on that same bench, similarly alone.

Kristoff caught her eye and the two exchanged a silent glance. He took a half step back, giving Anna space to approach Sophie alone. 

Anna crouched on the ground, trying to catch her daughter’s eye. Sophie stopped swinging her feet but didn’t look up.

“Hi mama…”

Anna smiled at her. “Sophie…how are you feeling?” she asked, as gently as she could.

The girl grimaced, her smoke thickening as she searched for an answer. “Upset.” She finally decided. “And a little guilty.” Tiny embers flared around her as she admitted that. She was used to voicing her feelings like this. Anna had always insisted and Elsa and Theo had agreed once they saw how much easier it was for Sophie to control her flames when she examined her feelings.

Of course, such radical openness about private feelings sometimes led the young princess to over-share. One time the girl had told them all about a dream she’d had about Elsa that had left the sisters blushing and Theo shaking with silent hysterics. Kristoff had asked his daughter to not share those dreams with him anymore.

“Guilty?” Anna asked her, sitting next to her on the bench. Mother and daughter swung their feet together. “What do you feel guilty about?”

The girl mumbled something.

“Sophie?” Anna questioned again, making her voice as firm as she could be without raising it.

“Chandelier…” Sophie mumbled, wringing her hands as they glowed a bright red. “It was dumb and it made you upset…”

Anna heard Kristoff sigh and resisted the urge to look at him. Elsa must have said something to her since yesterday. Sophie always took Elsa’s words to heart. 

“I’m sorry…” Sophie mumbled, a single tear trailing down her cheek. It evaporated before it fell. “Auntie said…”

But Anna cut her off before she could continue that sentence by scooping her daughter up into a surprise hug. She felt the flaring heat of her daughter’s body, smelled the thick smoke in the air and wished only to make it all better. Sophie’s powers were beautiful. But when she was upset, they only made Anna’s heart hurt to witness them. 

“Thank you for apologizing sweetheart.” Anna told her. She felt Kristoff join the little hug, his strong arms embracing them both effortlessly. “You understand why mama got so upset?”

Sophie nodded, still not completely relaxing into the hug but looking more resigned than she ever had. 

Anna gave her a squeeze. “Then we forgive you.” Kristoff stroked his daughter’s hair, humming in agreement.

Sophie relaxed into the embrace as the gentle ministrations of her parents wore down her defenses. “I just want you to love me…” She muttered, so quietly that Anna almost didn’t hear her.

“Oh, Sophie…” Anna pulled her daughter closer, not even wincing when her child’s hot hands burned her skin slightly. She nestled her face against her daughter’s and felt Kristoff’s hold on them tighten. 

“You are so loved.” She told the girl “I love you, your father loves you, your Aunts and Uncle love you…” She felt the hands cool ever so slightly and gently squeeze her around her neck. “Even when you get into trouble, know that we only get mad because we care about you so much.”

Sophie buried her face against Anna’s, her smoke slowly fading. 

“I know…”

Anna melted against her, her love for her daughter dwarfing her frustrations. Anna resolved to give Elsa the biggest hug later to thank her for whatever she had told the girl. She was growing up so fast and Anna thanked her lucky stars every day that she had such a wonderful family to help her raise this amazing girl.

Slowly, Sophie’s projected heat wave began to fade.

“It really was my fault…” Sophie said quietly. “With the chandelier…Theo wasn’t…”

“Shhhh.” Anna comforted her. “Your powers are exciting and tempting. But they are not your fault. They are the best part of you.”

“I know.” Sophie mumbled. Her grip tightened. “I love you, mama and poppa.”

Anna loosened her hold so that she could stare into the young girl’s eyes. “I love you too fireball…” She pressed their foreheads together. As a woman, she had never before understood the devotion parents felt towards their children. But after Sophie had been born, it had come crashing over her like a wave, her heart swelling to encompass this new love in her life. She would fight an army barehanded to keep her daughter safe. 

Gently breaking the family hug, Anna bounced her daughter over to sit on her hip. “Now, shall we go see how much of the chocolate in the kitchen we can steal before we’re caught?”

Sophie’s eyes lit up and tiny sparks flared all around her. “Yes please!” She wriggled out of Anna’s grip and seized her by the hand, dragging her towards the kitchens.

Kristoff rolled his eyes. “Have fun girls!” He called after them. “But I’m not providing you with a get-away sled this time!” Mother and Daughter laughed as they ran off to cause mischief.

***

When Elsa finished her queenly duties for the day, she found herself on one of the innumerable balconies overlooking the city. This one was her favorite because its height gave one a breathtaking view of both the fjord and the peak of the North Mountain in the distance. 

Taking a deep breath, she undid the few tendrils of ice in her hair, letting her fat braid fall out of its tight bun. Shaking her shoulders, she sent a rippling soft frost from her in all directions, like shrugging off an unpleasant thought. The rime drifted lazily on the spring air, slowly thawing and dripping misty raindrops on the gardens below.

Elsa watched it, thinking of simpler times when all she’d had to care about was playing in the snow and Branna’s lips sneaking a kiss from her own…

She smiled faintly as the memory from the Mother’s Realm seamlessly wove into one from her own childhood. Branna and Anna interchanged themselves through her memories so often, she wondered if her own human childhood had merely been an echo of her existence as the winter goddess. There was one key distinction between thoughts of her two companions though: where her love for Anna made everything feel soft and light, her feelings towards Branna sharpened everything and clouded her vision. She had felt the deepest of love for both of them, just in entirely different ways.

Now she was expected to feel such a thing for another? A prince or lord of some kind? Or perhaps that wasn’t the point. Perhaps she was doomed to not feel the kind of love she’d had for Branna ever again.

Elsa sighed heavily again, this time feeling a light dusting of snow drift around her.

_I’m a Goddess. Why should I be expected to marry?_

As a queen, she’d known such requests were expected of her. In the back of her mind, she’d considered the inevitability of one day needing a husband. But she’d always pushed it to the future with one reason or another: her powers, her young ascension to the throne, her godhood, the birth of her niece…

Even when her parents had been alive, she’d never pictured herself with anyone other than family. She’d never imagined a male presence by her side. To her, her parents had been one united ruling front, which she saw herself as. Forced to rule alone at 21 by their untimely deaths, she’d prepared for being a solitary ruler. Her parents had foreseen her powers as incompatible with a husband and therefore trained her as if she were a prince. After all that, there was simply no part of ruling the nation that she required a partner for. Sure she had Reba for information, Anna for assistance, and her court for daily matters but all rulers had such support networks. Wouldn’t adding another person onto that just make things…unbalanced?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a grunting noise below her.

Below her?

She leaned forward and peered over the lip of the balcony to where the massive stones of Arendelle’s castle were fitted together as smoothly as the pieces of a puzzle.

_What in the name of…?_

“Theo?!”

The Guardian looked up at her, clinging to the smallest of chinks in the castle wall with one hand. Her face fell as she locked eyes with Elsa.

“Oh. Right.”

She swung herself forward and gripped the edge of the balcony. Her muscles flexed as she hauled herself up onto the balcony proper. Once over the railing, she promptly leaned herself on it as if she hadn’t just scaled the castle wall to get there. “Hello, My Queen.” Her tone was conversational. There were tiny drops of water clinging to her hair and sweat dripping from her neck.

Elsa stared at her. “What are you…?” she cut herself off with a huff. Sometimes it was better to just not ask. “How’d you know I’d be up here?” She inquired instead, ignoring the conspicuous dusting of snow around her.

Theo, of course, indicated it with a slight incline of the head. “You had a long day, which included a meeting with the court.” She said by way of reasoning. “After which, you usually seek solitude, most often on a balcony somewhere.” She shrugged. “I hedged my bets it would be this one.”

Elsa waved the snow away, trying to keep herself from blushing. “So why make your entrance from the outside?”

“You arrived before I thought you would.” Theo admitted sheepishly. “My plan was to already be up here with these.” She dug in her belt pouch and pulled out a handful of dark cherries. She held them out. “Found them at the market, for quite a reasonable price.”

Gratitude flooded Elsa unbidden. The fruits were rare this time of year but they remained one of her favorites. She made to take one but thoughts of their disagreement last night had her pausing.

Theo seemed to notice her hesitancy and plucked one from her hand to offer the Queen. Her smile was inviting and just a little guilty.

Elsa caved and took the fruit, leaning beside her Guardian on the railing. They ate in silence for a moment, each relishing the sweetness of the fruits and their own marinating thoughts. Elsa would never say it, but she was glad the Guardian was here for company, especially because they didn’t always need to talk to feel comfortable with each other. Just the warm presence of the other woman by her side was enough to make her relax.

“I…wanted to apologize for last night.” Theo began as the pile of cherries grew small.

Elsa turned to her slightly, listening.

“I’m not apologizing for doing it.” Theo continued, “I see it as a necessary evil to better protect you and your family. But I should have told you. You deserved to know.” She lowered her head, submissive to Elsa’s will.

Elsa hated it when she did that. There were too many reminders in that simple gesture of their first two years. The silent times. “I don’t completely agree with your methods,” Elsa began. “But I accept your apology.”

To her great relief, Theo raised her head slightly. “I’m glad. Because I did lie.”

Elsa raised an eyebrow.

Theo shook her nearly-empty pouch. “These were far more expensive than I had planned for.”

They laughed together, tongues stained purple from the juices.

“Well,” Theo said as their chuckles faded. “Now I just have to find some way to make amends with your sister.”

“Good luck.” Elsa offered. “But _maybe_ give her another few hours. Anna can be quick to forgive but you tend to get on her bad side. And definitely avoid her when she’s around any kind of blunt object…”

Thankfully, her joke only drew more laughter from the woman. “You know,” Theo commented, leaning next to Elsa on the railing. “for all your nagging on me about what I do and Anna’s criticisms about my influence on Sophie,” she smiled and Elsa could feel no teasing in it, “I think we all get along just fine.”

“Yes.” Elsa agreed, her heart warming. “We do.” She thought once more of trying to justify another person being carved into the puzzle of a family they had. But she didn’t say anything.

The two of them leaned on the balcony, watching the sun set over the fjord and licking cherry juices from their fingers. 

As the night fell, they didn’t talk about the inevitability of her betrothal.

Perhaps they should have.


	8. Winter's Yearning Part 1

**CHAPTER 4: WINTER'S YEARNING**  
_Part 1_

  
_Isen and Branna didn’t always get along. Isen had been wary initially, when the Mother took in the strange being that had fallen from the sky. She didn’t like the way the girl glowed, or the sensation that always seemed to surround her. It battled her cold and made her feel strange._

_Her baby sisters adored the new sister, who could make flames dance in the air and warmed the cold nights. Livet in particular was taken with Branna._

_Ever wary of this newcomer, Isen set about testing the limits of her power. She would freeze the doors of Branna’s chambers, counting how long it took the other spirit to thaw herself out. She would freeze some of the spirit’s belongings and see if she noticed. Once, she iced the floor and watched in disappointment as Branna effortlessly melted through the trap with each step, unaware of the danger underfoot and unaffected by it._

_Branna feigned ignorance and nonchalance but inwardly, she detested Isen’s actions against her. Why should she have to constantly be tested?_

_But eventually, each began to see the other as a rival, someone they had to outsmart or overpower. So Isen would conjure more snows and Branna would evade them by lifting herself on a cyclone. Challenge became sport, and sport became frivolity. Eventually, Isen realized she was planning these elaborate traps simply to see Branna laugh. Branna knew that such games was the only thing bringing Isen joy as her eyesight faded._

_Then one day, Branna took Isen’s hand._

_“You, are my light in the darkness.”_

_Something changed; where their hands touched, only steam was created. From that moment onward, Branna would do anything for Isen. They loved each other._

_Centuries later, Ileana and Erin found their powers constantly clashing. They were drawn to each other, that much was certain. But in the most violent of ways._

_Erin was hotheaded and short-tempered, Ileana was proud and stubborn. Their fights were loud and emotional, filled with flurries and sandstorms and the certainty that they hated each other._

_For years, Isen and Branna watched helplessly as their human hosts bickered and fought, filling the subconsciouses of the young girls with wisdom of how their own story had begun in such a similar manner. But they swallowed their pain and let the hosts alone to process their relation to each other._

_As the girls aged, they grew into their powers. They accepted wisdom and guidance from the banished spirits and came to understand the silent yearning each one felt. As emotions and circumstance drew them closer together, Ileana came to rely heavily on Erin, needing her eyes to guide her and her hands to record her visions. Guilt drove Erin at first but she came to find Ileana’s voice a comfort in the long nights filled with Branna’s terrifying memories of war and sacrifice._

_Then one day, Ileana took Erin’s hand._

_“You, are my light in the darkness.”_

_Something changed; where their hands touched, only steam was created. Erin looked at Ileana…and all she could see was everything that gave her strength in her darkest times. For the first time, both truly understood the spirits sharing their forms._

_They resisted at first, both unsure and too young to consider the reality of love._

_But it was already too late. The seeds were planted. Ileana and Erin loved each other._

_That was how the Darkness gained His foothold in this Realm._

_**From the writings of Sophie, the great Fire Goddess incarnate, Kingdom of Arendelle, Mid-Winter, 1821** _

***

**_Kingdom of Arendelle, Summer, 1821 (Eight years after the events of the Great Freeze)_ **

"Princess Sophie? Do I have your attention?”

Sophie sighed, trying not to make it too noticeable. She didn’t want to get reprimanded again.

“Yes Master Hildar.” She replied, tearing her gaze away from the window. Outside, the summer sun cast an utterly gorgeous day across the fjord. A soft wind, carrying the promise of a late rain lifted the flags on the palace and the sails of the ships in port. Insects hummed in the air and Sophie was all abuzz. She could feel the heat calling out to her. She needed to be outside on a day like today.

“Then do please try to keep your eyes on me, not on the fjord.” Her tutor chastised her. Master Hildar raised his tea to his lips, only to grimace and blow futilely on it. With a sigh he set the cup back down on its saucer.

“Right. Now where were we?” He consulted an enormous book that had been pried from its place in the castle’s library for its new residence in Sophie’s classroom. “Ah yes, the First War of the North…”

“Fought in the 1340s, between the Empire of Melonia and the city-state of Corona.” Sophie replied dully. “It lasted until 1351, when Lady Ryiga split the empire into North and South so that the North could abstain from the fighting. The following year, the South surrendered to Corona and gave it the land that would make it into the kingdom it is today…" 

“Most accurate.” Hildar congratulated her, far to used to her encyclopedic knowledge of history to be bothered. But for some reason, even though Sophie had yet to answer a question incorrectly, he still insisted on spending hours ‘teaching’ her history. “But I’m afraid you’ve forgotten about the inciting incident for this conflict: the mysterious death of Emperor Jeoffry.” He touched his cup of tea wistfully but withdrew his hand disappointed yet again. “Now, history tells us that the emperor made an unscheduled visit to the border with Corona to check in on Crown Prince Yoseph’s armada but was found dead the following morning on the ramparts of the boarder wall. Now the leading theory is of course, some sort of heart condition as there were no wounds to speak of…but that same month, in 1341, the Empire declared war on Corona and…” 

Now Sophie let herself sigh audibly. “Wrong.” 

Hildar paused, one finger already bending the corner of the page to turn it. “I beg your pardon, princess?” 

“The war started in 1342, after Død’s host accidentally killed the emperor when his second son Jorgen tried to use her power to assassinate the heir. The people blamed General Wygaard of Corona for the death and attacked his kingdom.” 

“Princess…the circumstances around Emperor Jeoffry’s death were indeed suspicious, and Prince Jorgen was hardly a model prince but I hardly think that…” 

“I was there.” Sophie replied drily. “I know what happened.” Her dreams had shown her the outcome: her host at the time (generation 70) sensing the snap of Autumn’s powers and locating the girl responsible, the two of them then escaping in the chaos, hiding in the bowels of a rat-infested ship and sailing for the kingdom that would become Arendelle so they could reach the temple. 

Hildar sighed. “…right.” He turned the page, fingers skimming the text to find a new place. 

Sophie turned back to the window, her head propped up on her fist. 

She liked Master Hildar, she really did. He was nice enough, and he recognized just how smart she was. His only problem was his lack of acceptance that history was not as his scholars and tutors had handed it down to him but rather, a series of incidents following the lives and exploits of young girls gifted with incredible powers drifting secretly through the events of mankind. Most of the wars had been started by mere accidents, most of the natural disasters by a tantrum or argument. 

Sophie winced as Hildar tried to resume his lesson, moving into parts of the war that the hosts had managed to not play a part in. 

Ordinarily, Sophie was more reserved in her corrections of Master Hildar. She’d had to be after he’d complained to her mother _and_ Elsa that she was constantly undermining his history lessons and he couldn’t hope to teach her like this. After a long talk with Theo, Sophie had come to understand that humans were stubbornly convinced of their own importance in the past and refused to accept that most of history had happened around them, not because of them. So she forgave Hildar his historical inaccuracies. He was only human after all. 

Sophie glanced at the window again as Hildar began droning on about Coronan battle strategies she’d seen in person during her 75th host’s life. 

But today she just wanted this lesson over with. And not just because of the gorgeous weather outside. 

Sophie turned a page in her notebook, pretending to take notes. As her hand drifted back down, she brushed the edge of what was tucked underneath. 

A warm thrill shot through her, accompanied by a brief spark from her fingertip. 

Today, she had discovered something. 

It was a book. A simple tome of stories she’d discovered in the library while researching for her lesson today. It wasn’t so unusual to find something exciting in the Arendelle library: her mother and all her aunts were voracious readers and her grandparents and great-grandparents had collected books, stories, and records from throughout their land and others to keep the interior of the castle alight with science, magic, and adventure through the historically long winters. 

But as soon as she’d touched the cover, the entire book had sang with a kind of remembrance she had so rarely experienced. _She_ had written this. A long time ago. 

Sophie traced the edge of the book again, her fingers hot with anticipation. But she did not fear accidentally setting this book afire. All of her writings were on flame-proof paper. 

_But why can’t I remember what this is about? And how did it end up here?_

“…and so the Coronan army, vastly outnumbered and outmatched, overcame the Melonian forces through a combination of tactical strategy and a very lucky blizzard that trapped the Melonians in a valley for a week…” 

Unable to wait any longer, Sophie watched for her own moment to make a tactical move. When Hildar looked down to turn his page, she struck. 

She snuck the book out from under her notebook and opened the book at random, laying it across her desk. Her eyes traced the familiar penmanship of Asa of Generation 34 and landed on the utterly gorgeous sketch of a glass ball of some kind in the bottom right-hand corner… 

She frowned. 

_What is this?_

A wooden rod slammed down over her words, startling her. 

“Princess Sophie,” Master Hildar was glaring down at the text in front of her. Even upside-down he could tell it wasn’t her required history readings. “What is this?” 

She shrank. “…nothing…” He may know that she was a fire goddess. But she could hardly express her own shame at not being able to immediately recognize the story before her. Let alone her shame at getting caught not listening to his history lesson. 

He removed the rod from her pages but held out his hand. “Give it here.” 

Pouting, Sophie closed the book and handed it over, unable to meet his eyes. Her instructor barely glanced at the cover before placing it dismissively under his textbook. “Do not sulk, your Highness. You may have it back as soon as we’ve finished covering the northern conflicts of the Empiric Era in great detail.” 

Sophie sighed dramatically, casting a longing glance out of the window again. 

“Yes, Master Hildar.” 

He nodded. “Very good, your Highness. Now, the Second War of the North was hardly caused by something as mundane as an assassination. No, this war, one might say, was a direct result of accusations of witch-craft…" 

‘Accusations of witch-craft’, Sophie had come to learn, were usually just historian’s short-hand for human encounters with one or more hosts. This time, it had been Isen’s host Lisbeth and her Guardian Azoth the Vengeful. This particular story was quite dry though, given what else had happened during Lisbeth and Azoth’s generation… 

Bored again, Sophie touched the rim of the cup of tea when Hildar turned his back. The cooling liquid heated back to a near-boil instantly. It was the fifth time she’d done this today. 

She stared at the forbidden book tucked under Hildar’s enormous history tome. Her mind itched at the utter lack of memories about the simple book of scriptures. 

It was going to be a long lesson. 

***

"Are you going to get up? Or are we done here?” 

Sweat was dripping into her eyes. Her every muscle ached and she was bruised from head to toe. This was her third time sprawled out on the floor, bested by her enemy. 

Anna clenched her fist around the hilt of her sword. 

_I won’t fail…not again._

With a roar, Anna launched herself at her opponent. Their blades clashed and sang, Anna’s fury lending itself to her skill. Her opponent matched her blow for blow, with seemingly little effort. Their feet squeaked across the floor, each practically dancing as they fought. 

Drawing back, Anna lifted the sword above her head, her muscles bunching for a powerful overhead strike. 

In the millisecond between raising her blade and swinging it down, a hand shot out and stopped her motion effortlessly. Anna squirmed but it was too late. She was caught. 

“No, no, no!” Theo gave her an impatient glare, her grip tight on Anna’s wrists. “I told you…always feint _high_ and attack _low_.” 

Anna panted, resisting the urge to headbutt her infuriating sparring partner in the face. She’d tried it before. It had failed spectacularly. “Yeah…but then you’d be expecting it!” 

“That’s the real test:” Theo shot back, “can you surprise me with something I’m already expecting?” 

Anna rolled her eyes. “I swear, you talk more than you actually fight.” 

“It’s called a distraction…” 

"A distraction from what?” 

Anna knew she was in trouble the second she finished that question. With a twist of her hand, Theo had the sword tumbling from her grip. Before Anna could launch herself into a recovery, something hit the back of her legs and she tumbled. 

Before she hit the ground, Anna jerked to a halt. Glancing up, she found Theo’s hand fisted in her practice shirt, holding her up. 

The Guardian smirked at her. “That.” She unceremoniously dropped Anna, but the fall was much softer than it would have been. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. 

The princess groaned and flopped back dramatically. 

“Okay…fine. I’m done. Just leave me here…to die…” 

Theo walked up to Anna’s head and offered her a hand. “Come on Scrappy, dont make me carry you out of here. Again.” 

“Well…since you offered…” Anna sat up, ignoring the offered hand. 

Theo wasn’t offended. She left Anna in place and went to retrieved their practice weapons. 

Anna watched her, enviously noticing that the woman hadn’t even broken a sweat during their intense sparring session. 

“How are you even human?” She found herself asking. 

“You need to work on your recoveries.” Theo replied, utterly ignoring Anna’s inquiry. “And your prep time. Doesn’t matter how powerful your attack is if it doesn’t land.” 

Anna sighed, spreading her legs and running her aching hands over her practice breeches. Theo wasn’t an easy teacher to please. For her, even the tiniest of errors meant certain failure. Still, for all her annoying dissections of Anna’s shortcomings, it was beneficial for them both (especially now that Theo wasn’t able to seek out opponents on the street). Theo didn’t possess the same unpredictability and improvisation skills that Anna did. But she was far better trained and conditioned than Anna could ever hope to be (it was utterly unreal how strong she was!). Their sparring sessions had evolved from bouts of venting their frustrations on each other to actual teachable encounters. 

“I tripped you up with that shoulder roll though…” Anna insisted. 

“That’s what that was?” Theo teased, dumping the swords back on the rack. “I swear that was just you recovering from a fall.” 

Anna flushed, hiding her face by finally clambering to her feet. It had been. “I still landed that hit on your calf though!” 

Theo laughed. “Now _that_ I’m sure was an accident!” 

They left the training room, crossing the hallways towards the meeting rooms, still bickering about technique and forms and what hits Anna had intentionally made. 

Anna actually laughed as the Guardian pulled an overly dramatic face when mocking her final attack, and switched her retaliating punch into a gentler elbow check instead. 

Sparring was the only time when talking to her was actually easy. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Anna always felt better after a workout. Or maybe it was just the therapeutic benefits of attacking the girl who stole both her sister’s and her daughter’s attention away from her constantly. Anna tried not to think too deeply on it. 

It helped them get along. And that was all it really needed to do. They didn’t need to be friends. Just allies. 

They ran out of conversation about fighting by the time they reached Sophie’s classroom. Anna had promised her daughter a picnic for lunch today, a promise she intended to keep. Kristoff was away harvesting ice in the mountains and Sophie missed him miserably. 

“Are you ready for the ball?” She asked, finding Theo unwilling to move away just yet. 

Theo shrugged. “Maybe? Which fork is for stabbing my leg when someone wont stop talking?” 

“The fish fork is best for that.” Anna replied, not even fazed by the question. “Sharp, but wont cut through your clothes.” 

"Noted." 

Silence returned between them again, as both searched for a new topic of conversation. 

nna gazed at the classroom door, her fingers mindlessly tracing the snowflake inlaid on it. The upcoming celebration was on everyone’s mind lately. Particularly Elsa’s. Anna winced as she wondered what Elsa might be up to at this very moment. The castle seemed a tad colder than usual; that wasn’t a good sign. She may have the entire staff behind her and the ability to decorate any room in less than a minute, but that never stopped Elsa from micro-managing a party. 

“Are you worried for her?” Theo suddenly asked. 

Anna glanced up. “Sophie? No, she’ll be fine. She’s been showing off her powers to the people of Arendelle for years; this will be easy.” 

“Not Sophie.” Her face showed that she clearly knew exactly what direction Anna’s thoughts had gone in. 

“Oh.” Anna squirmed. Was she really this easy to read? “Uh, well…kind of…? These parties dont tend to go well in the best of circumstances and now with her advisors butting in about marrying her off…” 

She hurriedly snapped her mouth shut but the damage was already done. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” 

Theo’s face was unreadable. “We should make sure she has everything she needs.” She replied, as if Anna had not spoken. 

If she had a deeper meaning behind those words, Anna never got the chance to ask her. 

The classroom door suddenly burst open in a blast of heated wind and a small ungainly tangle of limbs rushed at them. 

Without so much as flinching, Theo plucked Sophie from the air, saving the princess from a nasty tumble. 

“Easy there…” The Guardian scolded, holding her up so she could look into her face, “remember, the breeze wants to come to you. You just have to nudge it, not pull it.” 

Sophie grinned. “Sorry Theo!” She was absolutely bouncing with excitement. 

Master Hildar, his hair askew and his brow heavy with sweat, exited the classroom silently. He spared Anna and Theo only a short, stiff bow before taking his leave. 

Anna caught sight of something on the floor and stooped to pick it up as Theo placed Sophie down. It was a slim book, something so old, she wondered where on Earth her daughter had found it. 

Sophie glanced at the book in her mother’s hand, then at the two women in front of her. “Am I…in trouble?” She asked, cowering slightly. 

“Not yet.” Theo teased her. But the second she saw what Anna was holding, her expression hardened. “What is that?” She sounded almost scared. 

Anna cracked it open, finding it covered in ancient ruins, the kind she’d been tutored in long ago but hadn’t needed to read much since. The penmanship was absolutely stunning, so much so that Anna found herself getting lost in the words, even if she only understood one out of every five of them. 

Impatient now, Theo plucked the book straight out of Anna’s hands. “Sophie…where did you get this?” She inquired, squatting down to look the princess in the eyes. 

"I wrote it!” 

Theo wasn’t even fazed by the insistence. “Yes I know…but where did you _find_ it?” 

“In the library.” Sophie replied. 

Anna and Theo exchanged a look. “Arendelle’s library?” Theo asked. 

Sophie nodded. “Yes. It’s from Asa.” 

Theo stiffened at that. She flipped the book open, her fingers skimming the text as if searching out something. Anna peered over her shoulder as she found a page absolutely covered in the gorgeous writing but dominated by an enormous sketch of some kind of tree in the process of turning to dust… 

Theo slammed the book shut. 

Her eyes were darting back and forth, her grip on the book so tight that Anna feared for the binding. 

_“Reise Mellom Verdener…”_ She muttered, her face paling. Sophie cocked her head in surprise at that. As if she recognized the words but could not recall their meaning. A language she had not needed to know for a long time. 

“Theo?” Anna pressed, gently tugging on the book. To her surprise, the Guardian released it without protest. 

“I must go find Elsa…” She muttered, more to herself than to Anna. Her mind was obviously elsewhere. “make sure she’s not…you know…” She made a vague gesture with one hand. 

Anna winced. “Send for me if it’s really bad…?” She called as the Guardian made her escape down the hallway. 

Theo threw a wave over her shoulder. “I can talk her down!” She shouted back, already jogging away. 

Anna glared. _And there she is…right back to stealing…_

Sighing, Anna turned to her daughter. 

“Mama?” Sophie asked, raising her arms. “Is Elsa going to be alright?” 

Anna scooped her up, huffing with the effort. “She’ll be fine, fireball…once this whole event is over.” She bounced Sophie over to sit on her hip. The girl was getting to be too big to be carried. 

Her daughter frowned. “She doesn’t want to have the ball?” 

“It’s nothing to do with the ball itself!” Anna assured her. “It’s just…Elsa and parties just…they dont really mix well.” 

"What do you mean?" 

Anna recalled a shouting match ending in unexpected icicles, a furious escape to the courtyard that had ended in an icy blast and a breakdown. “I’ll explain when you’re older…” She promised. 

Sophie pouted indignantly. “Mama! I’m almost seven! I’m older _now_!” 

Anna chuckled and nuzzled her face against her daughter’s cheek. An indescribable sadness snaked into her heart at that comment that she dared not let her impressionable young daughter see. 

She gazed at the book in her hand. Flicking it open, she came upon a sketch of some kind of sliver of glass, formed into a wickedly sharp point. 

“How about you read me a story then?” 

*** 

Theo hurried down the hallways, her face tight and her mind racing. 

Her heart had unexpectedly clenched at the words: _Reise Mellom Verdener_. 

She knew those words. Those were the words that echoed in her dreams, drawing her towards the end of the path… 

_What could this possibly mean? How could the spirits have forgotten something so essential as the Tree over their time in this realm?_

Once again, something tugged at the darkest corner of her mind, some long-ago encountered secret that she couldn’t quite recall the words of. She could feel the crease of pages under her fingers, the drying ink upon her hands, the shafts of the Quill tickling her face… 

But was it _her_ memory? Or one of the others’? 

Each step down the passageway felt like her last, each footstep as heavy as if she were marching to the gallows and could already see the rope. 

_I knew this was coming…I knew it would eventually catch up to me. I just never imagined it would be so soon!_

She passed by a wall covered in thick, icy rime and paused. Taking a deep breath, she let the dark thoughts pass out of her mind. 

_They can wait…right now…_

She turned back, her eyes tracing the pattern of the rime down the hallway. 

_Right now, I have a goddess to keep calm._

But as she walked down the hallway, her mind had already begun making a plan. 

*** 

_**Kingdom of Arendelle, Mid-Summer’s Eve, 1821**_

It was nearly time. Elsa’s heart was racing, her ice gathering nervously at her fingertips. “If this doesn’t go perfectly…the whole negotiation will fall apart.” 

Reba gave her a tight nod. “I understand, Elsa. It will be perfect.” Her calm certainty was just the assurance Elsa needed. 

Elsa extended the slip of paper. “I know you wont fail me Reba. Now go.” 

Her spy took the message, bowing her head. “It shall be done as soon as…” 

But before she could finish, the door to their impromptu office banged open, startling them both so much that Elsa nearly froze the interloper. 

Fortunately for everyone involved, it was impossible for her to freeze this one. 

Theo eyed them suspiciously. “…what are you two…?” But her eyes moved across the tables strewn with papers, the platters stacked high with various treats, the icy decorations hanging in midair, down to the perfect rendering of a five-layer cake in Reba’s hand and she sagged dramatically. 

“…really, Elsa? Do we have to go through this _every single year?”_

“That’s the idea with _birthdays_ , yes.” Elsa snapped, already irritated at the interruption. There was too much to do! 

If Theo recognized the Queen’s mood, she wasn’t affected by it. She turned to the spy. “Why do you assist her with this?” 

"It is the Queen’s wish.” Reba insisted, seeming offended at Theo’s question. “And I never say no to surprising Princess Sophie. If I must visit every bakery in the kingdom to find someone competent enough to create this cake, then I will.” 

Theo rolled her eyes. “You take your role as the head of her information network a little _too_ seriously…” 

“Says the silent devotee…” Reba shot back. 

The two of them eyed each other for a long moment with practically identical scowls. Then Theo grinned at the teenager. “You’re lucky I like you…” She quipped, patting the girl on the head. “…and that your ravens have it out for me.” She muttered as Reba glared at her. She stepped out of Reba’s way. “Carry on then.” 

Reba slipped out of the room but not before Elsa caught sight of her rolling her eyes. 

A quick smile tugged at her lips. _Those two could have been sisters in another life…_

The smile faded as she realized she was now alone with Theo. 

“If you’re going to force me into another break, I’m going to freeze myself inside this room.” She warned, turning back to her pile of papers. There were still four dignitaries in need of accommodations, three more musicians to hire, chocolate to procure, and the ballroom to decorate. 

“I wont force you.” 

Elsa scoffed. “But you’ll pester me.” 

“I prefer to think of it as gentle persuasion towards a more desirable outcome for both of us.” 

Elsa did not dignify that with a response. She returned to her paperwork, effectively ignoring Theo’s stubborn presence while she sorted out the dignitaries. Planning this birthday celebration had been stressful, but a good kind of stress. This wasn’t life-threatening, or part of her long memory, or some kind of political stunt. This was all about celebrating a milestone and having fun. No politics. No drama. 

These past few days however, Theo had taken to interrupting her at inopportune moments; usually in some attempt to get her to calm down. 

Elsa whipped around suddenly, calling her powers to her hand and throwing several sculptures that had been kicking around in her mind for the past few days into the room. 

Theo didn’t even flinch as an elaborate swan sprung to life beside her. 

She didn’t need to calm down. She needed everything to be perfect. 

Elsa tapped her chin as she examined one of her creations. It had come out a little wonky, probably because she was rushing. It resembled more of a lizard than the serpent she had imagined. “What do you think of an ice volcano?” She asked, effortlessly changing the sculpture into a cone. 

“It’s gaudy.” Theo replied, sounding utterly bored. 

Elsa nodded. “You’re right, I dont want to upstage Sophie…” She reformed the sculpture into the North Mountain, then melted it entirely. “I’d better keep it simple.” 

Theo rapped her knuckles on the swan, producing a tinny tapping sound. “Why do you need seven different sculptures? Where are you even going to put those?” 

“Around the ballroom!” 

“Wont that just make it harder for people to dance?” 

“You’re right…” 

Elsa vanished half of the sculptures, wringing her hands. “…perhaps the courtyard? But no…the citizens will be out there…and we still need room for the food, the entertainment, the ice rink and the birthday bugle horn!” 

“…I’m still baffled as to why you even HAVE such a thing…” 

Elsa rounded on her, appalled. “It’s an Arendelle tradition!” She insisted. 

“Doesn’t mean it makes sense!” Theo cried. 

Elsa huffed in frustration. “And you wonder why I despise planning Sophie’s birthday with you around…” She turned back to the table, double-checking her list of refreshments for the citizens’ celebration. 

Theo chuckled. “Don’t forget it’s your birthday too…” she commented, leaning casually against the swan sculpture (which had survived Elsa’s purge). “Who’s doing the preparations for you?” 

Elsa waved a hand. “No one, this is about…” She paused, realization dawning just a moment too late. She whirled to face Theo, horror running through her. “What did you do?” 

“Me? Nothing.” Her flippant tone made it difficult for Elsa to tell if she was lying or not. “But after living under the same roof as your sister for several years, my bet is on her planning something involving chocolate and a cascading domino effect of unintended consequences right about……now.” 

Across the castle, there was a crescendo of unpleasant sounds gradually growing closer to them. Both of them watched the doorway with cautious anticipation. 

Theo turned her head back, raising an eyebrow. “Wow, I’ve never been _that_ exact in my predictions before…” 

Elsa turned back to her, suddenly apprehensive. “If you’re about to do a repeat of last year…” 

Theo looked mortified. “Trust me, _no one_ wants a repeat of last year…” She shuddered. “Least of all me…” 

The thundering noises approached them and both of them warily turned back to the door. 

Just as the sounds reached the height of their crescendo, Sophie rocketed into the room wearing only her underwear and a smoldering curtain hanging around her neck like a cape. Before she could careen past them and out the open window, Theo snagged her around the waist, giving Elsa a clear shot to extinguish the blaze. 

“Sophie…” Elsa began, taking a deep breath to calm herself down as Theo tucked the rebellious princess under her arm. “Care to explain why you’re flying through the palace half-naked in a fiery blaze?” 

_“They’re after me!!!”_ Sophie hissed. Scrabbling, she twisted in Theo’s hold, eyes huge as she pleaded with the Guardian. _“Theo! I need an assist!”_

To Elsa’s dismay, Theo actually seemed to be contemplating it. “Oh no…we are not doing this again. Not today.” 

“I dont know Elsa…” Theo replied, tapping her chin with one finger. “…the laws of the assist are ironclad…” 

Sophie nodded enthusiastically, which only made Elsa fear for all her hard work. 

“If you help her, I’ll be forced to unleash my full wrath upon you!” She warned. 

Theo merely exchanged a look with the girl under her arm. “Hmmm…I think Sophie and I can take you…” Sophie shouted an affirmation, folding her arms. 

Elsa caught sight of something behind the Guardian and smirked. She moved her hands behind her back, her powers already in motion. “Ah…but can the two of you take on…both of us?” 

The color drained from Theo’s face. “You wouldn’t.” 

Elsa shrugged. “I wouldn’t.” A mischevious grin stretched across her face. “But _she_ would.” 

Anna burst through the open door, a snowball already formed in her fist. Theo had no time to duck before it smashed into her face. 

“Ahha!” The princess cried in triumph, sticking her tongue out at her daughter. “Who has the upper hand now? You’re mine!” 

“I’ll never surrender!” Sophie cried, her hands already glowing in her fervor. 

Theo shook the snow from her face, and shifted to place Sophie on her shoulders. 

“OH ho…NOW it’s personal.” The Guardian held out both hands. “Sophie! Load the cannons!” 

The princess summoned her powers. Balls of sand dropped into Theo’s outstretched palms. 

“Open fire!” Sophie cried, her finger held aloft. 

Elsa barely had time to erect a protective wall of ice around her party-planning supplies before the onslaught began. 

Amid the flying sand, blasts of heat, and cackles from the Guardian, all her focus came down to forming snowballs, countering blasts of heat with cold gusts and making sure Anna always had a snowball in her hand. Once, such a fight, even one as overly-dramatic as this would have reminded her of the darkest times when her powers had clashed with Branna’s. But with Sophie, Anna, and Theo’s gleeful chuckles filling the air, all she felt was love. 

Elsa gathered her power, creating a massive snowball over her head. 

“Feel the wrath of winter!” She cried, readying her attack. 

“Theo!” Sophie cried, tugging on the woman’s braid. “Fireball!” 

In the split second it took Elsa to aim her attack, Theo tilted just enough that Sophie had a clear shot. The blasts of fire from her niece’s hands melted her snowball in an instant, dousing Elsa in freezing water. 

She shook the water from her face and stamped her foot. “Oh you’re going to suffer for that!” She skated into the fray. 

The room descended into utter chaos, the shrieks of a snowball finding its mark or the cries of a sandy surprise the only things splitting the steam. 

This was the scene Kristoff stumbled into not two minutes later, finding himself doused in a mixture of snow and sand that was becoming all too common in his life of late. 

“HEY!” He shouted, his voice putting an abrupt, almost guilty stop to the assault. The last of the steam dissipated, revealing the room to be utterly drenched in splattered snowballs and sprinkled with sandy mounds. The women all gave him looks of varying degrees of mirth. 

Kristoff just shook his head. “WHAT. IS. ALL. THIS. ABOUT?” 

Theo gestured at the child currently hanging off her arm like a monkey. “She wont wear her birthday dress.” 

Sophie grinned sheepishly. 

Kristoff blinked. “No, really.” 

Anna shrugged. “That’s really it.” She tugged the tattered, burned cape from her daughter’s shoulders. “I chased her in here and found myself ambushed.” 

“She decreed an assist was necessary.” Theo defended herself. “A Guardian never ignores the call for an assist.” 

“We really need to make new house rules regarding assists…” Kristoff muttered, struggling to pull his feet from a sand mound. “Sophie can you…?” 

Sophie nodded and concentrated fiercely. Slowly, the sand in the room began to vanish. 

Elsa’s heart swelled with pride. “Now that we’ve negotiated thoroughly,” she joked, making her snow vanish as well, “I think the princess will wear her dress as planned.” 

“What! No!” Sophie cried, abandoning her focus on vanishing the sand to pout at Elsa. “You call that a victory? Theo and I won!” 

Elsa froze the water still clinging to her into a new icy train for her dress. “You are wearing a dress, Sophie.” She insisted, in her Queen voice. “The princess of Arendelle must look her best at her own party.” 

“But I can look good in pants!” Sophie insisted. She gestured at the arm holding her up. “Theo does!” 

Elsa blushed furiously at the comment. “Well…that…it…” She refused to look at Theo while she fumbled for a response. “Anna?” She finally hissed, as it became clear her mouth would not cooperate. 

Anna plucked Sophie from Theo’s arm and set her back on her feet, keeping herself in front of the door to prevent another escape attempt. 

“Sophie…we talked about this…you need to wear a dress to the ball. All the other women will be wearing them…even Elsa and myself.” 

Sophie pouted, looking far too indignant for a girl wearing only her underclothes. “Theo wont be wearing a dress. Why cant I wear pants like Theo does?” She demanded. 

“Theo is our Guardian,” Anna pointed out patiently, “she has to wear pants to defend us.” 

“And I highly recommend them.” Theo remarked, squatting to demonstrate her range of motion. She leapt into an impressive high kick. “I’m never going back to dresses.” 

Anna glared at her, enviously eying the less restrictive formal wear. Elsa tried very hard not to press her new ice train against her face. 

“I can defend us too!” Sophie insisted. She copied Theo’s kick with less height but similar form. “Just not in that dress!” 

Kristoff chuckled, finally finding a way into the argument. “Pants have their place.” He told his daughter, scooping her up and into a hug. “Don’t worry my little spitfire, when I teach you how to harvest ice, you’ll wear pants.” 

Sophie smiled at that. “And a tunic?” She pressed, tugging on his collar. 

“You’ll be dressed just like me.” Kristoff promised. He shot a wink at the women. “But…only if you agree to wear your dress for the ball.” 

Elsa and Anna both smiled at his underhanded negotiation. 

Sophie considered his arrangement. “Fine.” She agreed. “But you have to take me this winter!” 

Kristoff tossed her into the air, catching her with some effort and setting her down. “Maybe a certain birthday girl should wait for her present…” He teased, already making a smooth exit from the room. 

Sophie’s eyes lit up. “Is it my own reindeer?!” 

Anna shook her head, chuckling. “Sophie, your father is eccentric but he’s not _that_ eccentric…” A look of panic suddenly crossed her face. “Oh what am I saying?…Kristoff!” She took off after him. 

Theo nodded to Elsa. “My work here is done…no need to thank me.” She insisted as Elsa gave her a look. “It was all your niece’s doing.” 

She low-fived Sophie as she left the room. “Wear pants underneath the dress.” Elsa heard her murmur to the girl. “And Operation Sandslide is a go.” 

Sophie grinned and saluted. 

“What’s Operation Sandslide?” Elsa asked her as she removed the ice wall from her party-planning supplies. 

Sophie stared at her for a moment, as if caught between desperately wanting to tell a secret and desperately wanting to keep a secret. Eventually, she chose the easy way out. 

“Gotta go!” She called, dashing out of the room in a flurry of warm wind. “Need to put clothes on!” 

Elsa sighed. 

_She’s growing up so fast…_ The realization hurt…but in the best way. 

*** 

_**_Province of Weselton, Autumn, 1818_ ** _

This project was truly going to kill him. 

Morten wiped his brow but the room was so hot that it hardly mattered. He seized his latest creation from the forge and plunged it into the waiting bucket of water. Steam filled the room, not helping with his current sweat problem. 

_This time…this time for sure._

After several seconds, he withdrew his creation. It had taken months and was certainly an odd thing to be proud of but he had the solution in hand at last. The sword in his grip was magnificent, long-bladed and finely crafted. There was only one flaw: a single sliver was missing. A hole the exact length and width as the object of his disdain. 

Morten turned, gently placing the sword down on the table. His gaze drifted to the shard. It sat, waiting. The blacksmith shivered in revulsion. At moments like this, moments just before he tried some new idea to harness its power, he swore it was watching him. 

Without taking his eyes off of the shard, Morten reached for his gloves and pliers. The thick leather was soft and pliable from use but enough to keep the unsettling sensation of being too close to the shard at bay. The pliers were merely an extra precaution. 

He moved slowly, steadily, every ounce of his training and skill going into this careful manipulation. 

The shard slid into the slot in the blade without complaint. 

For a long moment, nothing happened. 

Breath coming in anxious gulps, Morten removed his gloves and tossed them aside. Before he could think better of it, he grabbed the unfinished sword hilt and lifted the blade. 

The sword in his grip vibrated uncontrollably, glowing with a dark aura. His muscles, hardened by long years in the forge, complained at the force. The shard flared, coloring the entire sword the indigo-black of the night sky. Tiny white cracks appeared in this field, like splits in the cosmos. But it held. 

For one single, solitary second, Morten felt true power. A laugh escaped his throat. 

_I DID IT._

This weapon in his hand was unbeatable. Impulsively, he lashed out. His slice cut clean through a column of Arendellian wood. Where the blade touched, rot began to spread. The blacksmith swelled with pride. There was nothing he couldn’t cut, nothing that wouldn’t fall under this blade. This was his masterpiece. His name would be remembered forever as he who harnessed the power of the gods! 

A hissing sound caught his attention. 

The sword was smoking, the area around the shard glowing a bright orange. Morten stared in horror as the weapon in his hand began to melt from the inside out, the shard slowly corrupting his work and twisting it into something formless and ugly. The shard slipped right through the molten steel and clanged to the ground. He was left holding a twisted piece of metal. 

With a roar of fury, Morten threw the useless hunk of steel across the room. It smashed into his table of completed weapons and sent everything skittering across the forge. 

The chaos was not quite enough to quell his rage. The table behind him was next, shattering against the forge, the splinters littering the floor. The bucket of water tipped over, seeping across the wreckage. 

It had been years of meaningless experiments. And for what? 

Nothing had worked: he’d tried melting it, breaking it, sharpening it, and even freezing it. Nothing had made any kind of difference. It remained the same as the day he’d laid eyes on it. His tools broke when they touched it. Anything organic that came near it disintegrated. 

Morten sank against the lower half of the column he’d sliced, despair coiling tightly inside of him. 

_I’m not going to succeed. My reputation will be ruined…_

The shard glinted at him from the floor, slowly returning to its normal color. Morten stared at it. 

_What else can I do?_

“Master Morten!” 

With a massive effort, he pulled himself upright, tugging his shirt off a hook nearby and throwing it on. He shuffled forward to greet his employer, making sure to leave the shard a wide berth. 

“Your Grace.” 

The Duke nodded at him, but his beady eyes were flicking to and fro over the destruction Morten’s rage had brought to the forge. 

Morten peered at his companion. This time the Valet hadn’t accompanied him. Instead there was some kind of Sami hunter at the Duke’s elbow; adorned in thick furs, a crossbow slung across his back. But his skin tone wasn’t the kind that Morten typically associated with the Sami peoples. His dark eyes watched the forge with an intense interest but no visible emotion, sweeping the space as if mapping out important details. 

Morten found himself both impressed and unsettled. 

“Progress?” The Duke inquired. 

Morten sighed. “Barely.” He told them what had happened with his sword experiment, watching with growing dread as the Duke’s frown deepened. 

“But it worked?” The man prompted as Morten finished his story. “You harnessed it?” 

“For a few seconds…” Morten pointed out. He indicated the rotting column. “It did that.” 

The Duke examined the sliced beam with interest. “Very good.” He ran a finger along the wood, wrinkling his nose when some of the decay rubbed off on his hand. “How soon can you have another one ready?” 

Morten balked. “Another…?” He waved his hand at the destruction around them. “Your Grace, if I may say so, I think you have missed my point…” 

“No I haven’t.” The Duke assured him. “You got it to work, which is what I asked.” 

Morten resisted the urge to groan. “Yes…barely. But I fear you overestimate my success. It took me _months_ to do even that.” He considered his next words carefully. “I came this far on my own but I fear I can go no further.” 

“Don’t lose faith, dear boy.” The Duke chided him. “You just need some inspiration.” 

If there was one thing Morten knew, it was that he’d need a hell of a lot more than just ‘inspiration' to make any further progress with this. “Your Grace, once again…I must ask you: where is the rest of it? Or the maker? Either would prove invaluable to me and this work.” 

They’d had this argument many times, nearly as many times as he’d failed. And every time without fail, his questions had been resolutely ignored. He was beginning to suspect that his employer was just as clueless about this as he was. But to his surprise, the Duke pulled on his mustache and actually acknowledged the question. 

“The remainder is well-hidden, somewhere out of our reach. As for the maker…” He glanced at the Sami man but the hunter did not return his gaze. “The maker…is unavailable.” 

Morten raised an eyebrow. “Unavailable?” He knew this material was rare and valuable, probably magical in origin. But what kind of answer was that? 

“Yes.” The Duke snapped at him, his grace apparently all used up. “As in: they are not available to us.” 

“So he’s dead?” 

“None of your concern.” 

Morten threw up his hands. “You ask the impossible of me, Your Grace! Perhaps instead of having me spend years failing at crafting this, your time would be better spent finding this maker!” 

“Perhaps it would…” Came a soft voice from behind them. 

Both of them whirled around. Morten’s eyes widened. 

While he’d been arguing with the Duke, the Sami man had drifted towards the fallen shard. He was crouched beside it, his hand extended. 

Morten surged forward. “What the hell are you doing?! Don’t…” 

The man stood and turned to face him, calm as could be. Morten stared, his hands falling limp at his sides. The Sami man was holding the shard easily in both hands as if it were any other piece of metal. He watched Morten with pity. The blacksmith shivered under his gaze. “You still cant touch it after all these years?…you still fear it too much.” Crossing the forge, the man reverently placed the shard upon the cloth pillow Morten had taken to keeping it on. “The untamed beast is the most dangerous…” He observed. “But a tame beast is a lethal ally.” 

Something in his words stirred within the blacksmith’s mind. “We need a conduit…” 

That would solve the melting problem…the inability of normal materials to touch it. If something could… 

Morten scrambled to the scattered remains of his worktable, searching for a scrap of anything he could draw upon. 

“Master Morten?” The Duke inquired, stepping closer. 

Morten scrabbled under the splinters, finally coming across the parchment he sought. Snatching a stick of charcoal, he furiously began to sketch. 

Thankfully, both the Duke and the hunter were cognizant enough to be quiet while he furiously scribbled. 

Morten finished his rough drawing with the taste of lead in his mouth. “I think I’ve figured out the key, Your Grace…” He mumbled, finally turning back to his visitors. 

The man’s eyes glowed. “Yes?” 

Morten held out his sketch. “We’ve been going about this all wrong…the shard isn’t meant to be shaped or changed. It is meant to be harnessed. So we need a guide…something with the capacity to spread the power out, instead of concentrating it…Something or…” He risked a glance at the hunter. “…someone.” The man looked up at him but seemed not to care for Morten’s realization. 

The Duke’s eyes lit up. “Ah! Of course!” He rubbed his hands together. “I know of just the thing.” He turned to the Sami man. “My dear Mercenary…tell me you and your master can deliver this to me?” 

The man gazed at the shard, his brow furrowed as if calculating something in his mind. 

Watching him think, Morten suddenly realized what it was that unsettled him. This man, this Mercenary…his eyes were the same dark indigo-black color that the sword had turned. 

After a long pause, the Mercenary turned and bowed low to the Duke. “It will take me some time to find it…” His eyes burned with tiny white fissures as he smiled. 

“But I will.” 

*** 

_**_Kingdom of Arendelle, Mid-Summer’s Day, 1821_ ** _

As the sun set and the Solstice Festival began, Elsa ordered the gates open for the reception of the evening’s honored guests. 

Ordinarily, the capital of Arendelle celebrated the solstice (and the birthdays of its queen and youngest princess) with a public gathering in the palace grounds. It gave Sophie and Elsa a chance to use their powers together, to show the people of Arendelle what Winter and Summer could do in perfect balance. The citizens loved their displays and absolutely adored Sophie’s fine control of Summer’s power. No one had yet put together that Sophie was the same being as the one who had once attempted to destroy Arendelle. They all assumed it was just residual inherited magic from the royal bloodline. Where the country had once hated the idea of fire magic, the young princess had effortlessly charmed most of the citizens with her zeal for performance and the beauty of summer unrestrained by fear. 

But this year, they would not be attending the festival. The royal family had come to a decision regarding this particular birthday. Sophie was turning 7, the same age Elsa had been when the gates had first been closed. The age at which her suppression of her powers and her separation from Anna had begun. The time when the Lonely took hold. 

This sobering milestone was assertively smashed by Anna. “We’re going to celebrate it.” She had said, her arms wrapping around her daughter tightly. “We’re going to invite the world in and let everyone see what she can do.” 

Sophie, sensing the heavy atmosphere in the conversation, had nodded enthusiastically and even Theo and Kristoff had agreed. Elsa had been too busy silently swallowing her tears to voice her approval. She herself was turning 29; hardly a milestone. Not quite 30 and still a few years short of marking a decade of her reign. But she was happy to share her birthday celebration with this important day for her niece and the plans were made for a royal ball. Invitations had been sent out to all of Arendelle’s allies, neighbors, and delegations, calling them to the castle for this first ball since Anna’s marriage 7 years previous. 

Elsa stared at her reflection in the bedroom mirror, trying not to adjust the design of her dress any further. The long train was fine. She wasn’t changing it. Her dress for tonight echoed her coronation dress from all those years ago but was crafted entirely from her ice. She’d actually managed to get the perfect hue of purple on the outfit to highlight the delicate scoop neck. 

“Now, I know we don’t have a great track record with these things…” Anna babbled on behind her, where she was tugging on her shoes. “…but just…just try to relax tonight and have some fun?” 

Elsa tried to smile. “I will, Anna.” She turned around. Her sister had had a new dress made for the event; a beautiful ballgown in her favorite green and gold pattern with a sweetheart bodice and delicate straps. Waving her fingers, Elsa gave her sister a beautiful set of earrings and a necklace to match her wedding bangle. “Just so long as there are no nasty surprises…” She continued. 

“I think we’re good on that.” Anna assured her. She held up her fingers and began ticking things off one by one. “There’s no rogue spirit on the loose, no Weselton assassins to ruin the night, no surprise powers to be revealed…what could go wrong?” 

Elsa let out a shaky breath. “Right…” She echoed. “What could go wrong…?” 

Anna took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. It was enough for Elsa to gather her confidence and feel some sense of excitement again. Together, they left the safety of the bedroom, already hearing the sounds of the ball below them. 

“Sophie’s excited.” Anna commented as they descended the staircase. “And she finally agreed to not wear her cape…" 

Elsa laughed. “That is progress.” They paused as they reached the hallway that led to the ballroom. “One less thing to catch fire tonight.” 

Anna grimaced. “That’s the idea…although Kristoff didn’t promise me he wouldn’t have Sven’s fire brigade in place just in case…” 

Anna caught sight of something over Elsa’s shoulder and an inquisitive frown bunched up her face. 

"What is it?” 

Elsa turned. 

Theo was standing in the hallway, staring at the pair of them, her mouth open as if she had forgotten whatever she had been about to say. 

Against her will, Elsa’s gaze combed the woman’s figure. As promised, Theo was wearing pants: she was resplendent in a dark suit with green and gold highlights. Her hips and arms looked naked without their weapons in place but Elsa could see the tips of daggers in tops of her boots. Her hair was woven into a tight braid with a golden ribbon and her face lightly made up to accentuate her eyes and lips. She’d even added color to her cheeks. 

_Wait_. Elsa peered, something in her chest thrumming. _Is she…blushing?_

“I see someone didn’t get the message about color schemes…” Anna commented drily. 

Then Elsa realized what it was: Anna and Theo were dressed in nearly identical color patterns. Theo’s eyes snapped to Anna and her face twisted in disappointment. 

“Well…too late to change now.” Anna continued. “I guess we’ll just have to be on opposite ends of the party all night Theo.” 

“I..I…” She took a deep breath. “I guess we will. My apologies, Princess Anna. Shall I go fetch Sophie?” 

“No, I’ll go.” Anna brushed past her, perhaps a little rougher than she usually would. “You make sure Elsa doesn’t change the decorations. Again…” She shot Elsa a final gaze, ladened with meaning Elsa couldn’t decipher and made her exit. 

Theo turned back to Elsa, a soft smile firmly in place. The silence of the hallway taunted them. 

After another few seconds of staring, Theo shook herself and stepped up to Elsa. She extended something towards her with an odd jerk of her arm. “Here.” 

Elsa nearly gasped in surprise. It was a snowdrop in full bloom. The soft white petals glowed with a comfortable warmth and the delicate green stem was supple and strong. 

Elsa took it, their fingers brushing ever so slightly. “Where did you get this?” She asked, her voice a reverent whisper. She examined the bloom in the dim hallway light. “They’re not in season…” 

Theo didn’t answer the question. “I thought it might help for tonight.” She offered, clasping her hands behind her back. 

Elsa froze the flower with the gentlest of her frosts, locking it in its current state forever. She pressed it to her chest and froze it against her dress as a broach. 

“Help how?” She asked, unable to keep herself from brushing it one last time. 

“Help keep you calm.” 

Elsa’s head jerked up. “What?” 

Theo’s infuriating smirk was back. “You’re stressing.” She accused her, pointing to the spot on Elsa’s forehead that she knew (thanks to the Guardian’s constant reference of it) always wrinkled when she was freaking out. 

“Of course I am!” Elsa hissed at her. “Everything has to be perfect for tonight!” Sophie only got one chance to reveal her powers to the rest of the world. This was the only chance they had to fix the mistakes of their past. To paint over the bad memories with better ones. 

“No it doesn’t.” Theo assured her, rolling her eyes. “All that has to happen is that Sophie needs to get up on that stage, and remind everyone that she is an incredible human with incredible powers. Which she has done before in front of her own people many times.” 

Her nonchalance only made Elsa’s anxiety rise. Flashes of her coronation ball flew through her mind palace, the suspicious glares and fearful shouts of the guests of long ago taunting her. “But what if…!” 

Theo pressed a finger against her lips, gently silencing her. Elsa was stunned, her protest dying in her throat. Theo was never so forward. 

“Please just relax for tonight.” Theo begged her. “Stop worrying and have fun. For Sophie. She only turns 7 once.” 

Slowly, she removed her finger. Elsa blinked and realized she’d been holding her breath. She sighed heavily. 

“You’re right…” This was about Sophie. And so long as she was happy, that was all that mattered. 

She raised her head and offered Theo a small smile. “Thank you.” 

Theo only bowed her head and held out her arm. Elsa took it, allowing the Guardian to escort her towards the ballroom. 

The sounds of the party grew louder as they approached the doorway that Elsa was to make her grand entrance from. Two Arendelle guards flanked the doors, spears at the ready. 

Elsa noticed one of them eyeing them as she and Theo drew closer. With a gentle pat, Theo released her arm and took up her customary place behind her. The warmth from her touch lingered. 

Drawing herself up, Elsa nodded to the guards and they pulled open the door for her. The light and warmth of the ballroom smashed into her but she stood tall as every eye turned to her. 

“Queen Elsa of Arendelle!” Kai announced as she and Theo glided into the room, crossing to the elevated ice platform she’d constructed for her entrance. As usual, the steward did not announce Theo. Her presence was just a given. 

Elsa nodded to the visitors and guests as they bowed low at her entrance. “Thank you all for coming.” She addressed them. “Please, carry on.” 

The music resumed and within seconds, various people were swarming towards her. Elsa took a deep breath. “Here we go…” she muttered to Theo. 

“Here _you_ go.” Theo corrected. “This isn’t my area of expertise.” 

“Fine.” Elsa muttered, plastering on a smile as she saw Duke Percival approaching her. “Just abandon me in my time of need…” 

“You don’t need me for this.” Theo said, already backing away. The Guardian stifled a chuckle. “Also, I lied yesterday. I did do something for you.” But she offered no other explanation and when Elsa turned to confront her, the Guardian had slipped into the crowd and disappeared. 

_Dammit Theo…_

Pushing down her frustration, she returned to greeting her guests. 

Duke Percival reached her first and respectfully kissed her fingers. “Your Majesty, a beautiful gown for this evening…” he complimented her. 

“Thank you.” She said curtly. “You seemed rather eager to reach me first tonight…” she observed, watching the remainder of those approaching scurry away like roaches from the sunlight to wait their turn. 

Percival was uncharacteristically chipper. “Indeed, for there are several people I want you to meet…” He held out his arm to escort her. Elsa did not move. 

“And they cannot approach me on their own?” She inquired. 

Percival’s bluster faltered. “Well…of course they could but I thought it good manners to…” 

"To what?" 

When he did not immediately answer, Elsa glanced around the ballroom again. Her second sweep revealed something she had previously missed: there were a great number of suits in this ballroom. Far more than there were dresses. And many of said suits contained men around her age or slightly older. 

Elsa’s eyes narrowed and the temperature around her dropped two degrees. “What is the meaning of this?” She asked in a carefully neutral tone. 

“We arranged invitations for some of our closest allies to attend yours and the princess’ birthday.” The Duke replied casually. 

Elsa cut her eyes at him. “Our closest, _eligible_ allies?” 

Percival had the nerve to shrug. “Certainly not exclusively. It just so happens that they were the only ones to respond.” 

Elsa’s anger twisted in her stomach and it was only from years of self-control that no ice split the air. _Why must they force this?_ “You are lucky my father liked you, Percival.” Elsa told him, her voice dripping with disdain. “Otherwise I would not have a reason for why I am not currently freezing you into a block of ice.” 

He bowed to her. “Thank you, your Majesty.” 

“Now kindly leave me be. I do not require a chaperone.” 

“Of course…your Majesty.” 

The man returned to the party. His exit seemed to be a cue, because quite suddenly, there were about six men headed in her direction. 

Elsa narrowed her eyes. This could get unpleasant very quickly. “Reba…” Elsa muttered. She barely flinched when the girl appeared at her elbow a mere second later. 

“Yes ma’am?” The spy asked, dressed in a server’s uniform with her distinct hair tucked tightly away under a cap. 

“Keep Percival away from me tonight.” Elsa commanded her, under her breath. “And if any particularly brutish suitors think they have a chance at the royal bedchamber…” she turned to face the spy mistress, a cruel smile twisting the side of her mouth. “…convince them otherwise.” 

Reba smirked, a wicked glint in her eye. “My pleasure, Elsa.” She melted effortlessly into the shadows. 

Wincing, Elsa shortened the train on her dress considerably. It would only get in the way if she had to dance. Knowing this lot, she probably would. 

She plastered on a court smile as the first of the men reached her and seized her hand. 

Across the ballroom, Sophie made her entrance with Anna and Kristoff to a round of spirited applause. Blushing furiously, she tried her best to keep from burying her face in her mother’s dress. She was a big girl now. And tonight was her night to show the world what she could do. 

Her powers smoldered within her, desperate to dance through the heated air of the party. But she kept them inside for now. Elsa had told her how important it was to do this right. She wouldn’t let her down. 

So she curtseyed in the dreaded dress, careful to keep the wobble from her step and the embers from her hair and smiled at her guests with all the regality of a princess. 

“Nice job.” Kristoff complimented her, as the party guests’ attention drifted elsewhere. 

Sophie squirmed, looking around at all the unfamiliar faces and the couples already forming to begin to dance. “Now what?” 

Kristoff put his hand on her shoulder, pulling her into a soft side-hug. Her head barely made it up to his hip. “Now for the boring part…” He leaned down to whisper to her, _“mingling.”_

“OH come on, Kristoff, it’s not that bad!” Anna said, already grinning with delight. “There are so many new and interesting people to meet!” 

Both her husband and her daughter gave audible groans but Anna was already marching onwards to socialize. 

Sophie glanced longingly towards the dance floor, where people twirled and swayed like dancing flames and her foot tapped anxiously. 

Someone cleared their throat, drawing the attention of the royal family. “Excuse me, your princess-ness, may I have the honor of this dance?” Sophie turned to the voice. 

A small boy roughly her own age with thick brown hair bowed low before her. He held his position for about three seconds before popping upright again, grinning and shaking with suppressed laughter. 

Sophie’s face lit up. 

“Jarl?” Anna exclaimed. “Is that really you? You’ve gotten so tall!” 

Jarl dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you Princess Anna. The leaves are beginning to turn.” 

Sophie knew that among the Ears, that statement had something to do with security reports. 

Anna nodded to him, seeming satisfied. “Thank you for informing me.” 

“What are you…what are you doing here?” Sophie asked, trying to keep her excitement in check. 

“Reba sent me.” The boy replied, standing at attention. His suit was just a hair too large for him but he’d clearly practiced his court manners. He looked no more out of place than she did. “Wanted me to keep you company all night.” 

Sophie glanced around and caught sight of a short server in a cap, masterfully guiding a thick-bearded man away from her Elsa. She smiled. 

“Can I go, please?” She begged, looking first at her mother and then at her father. 

Anna seemed to be on the verge of refusing her but a gentle touch on the arm from Kristoff silenced her. 

“Spare her the mingling.” Kristoff pleaded on her behalf. “Let her have some fun before her big moment.” 

Anna sighed but nodded her agreement. 

Jarl offered Sophie his arm. “Come on, Branna.” He teased her in a low voice. “Let’s have some fun!” They scampered off, just in time for Anna to shout after them to behave themselves. “Be responsible…please!” 

Jarl led her straight to the edge of the dance floor, where the dancing adults watched them with amusement and the talking adults with suspicion. Sophie didn’t care. Jarl let go of her arm and she started to dance. Her lingering anxieties drifted away as her and Jarl danced next to each other. It didn’t quite match the music, but it had a life and rhythm all its own that only they knew. 

Sophie longed to let go entirely but didn’t want her powers to be seen before the big moment. _Soon._ She reminded herself. Already, she could feel the flames moving within her and the heat surrounding her tiny form. 

Jarl only smiled at her obvious restraint and added more moves to his dancing, just to make her laugh. 

Elsa glanced away from this absolutely adorable display, forcing herself back to the conversation she was in. What she wouldn’t give to have a Jarl of her own amid this sea of faces tonight… 

“…and that is my opinion on the ice trade…” Lord Nilok of Elonlia concluded. He took his first breath in as many minutes, a heaving sound, like an old pair of bellows. “Utterly ridiculous if you ask me.” 

_I didn’t ask you._ “You do realize that Arendelle’s main export is ice…” Elsa reminded him, no longer caring that she sounded cold and impolite. She was barely three potential suitors into this evening; how many more eligible men could there possibly be? 

“Yes, of course you’d think that…” Lord Nilok replied, rolling his eyes. “But it doesn’t _have_ to be. Arendelle has so many resources and with new trade routes, you could see a sizable increase in your treasury.” 

His tone made Elsa want to slap him across the face with the _very_ thick Ice Trade Charter she’d written and signed with three other nations two years ago. It was the very thing that had paid for this party and the improved roads that connected the capital with the outer villages. Lord Ardunna was _still_ cataloguing their treasury surplus from the trade. 

"Pardon me..." 

Elsa turned to her savior but her grateful smile slipped the moment she caught sight of who it was. 

He was tall and regal, with auburn hair and brilliant green eyes. His chest expanded before him, his head balanced precariously atop. A thick mustache the same color as his hair curled away from his mouth. 

Lord Nilok balked and hurriedly prostrated himself. “K..king Anderson…” he stuttered, all of his condescending bluster suddenly gone. “It…it truly is an honor…” 

“Please stop.” The King of the Southern Isles commanded, eying him as if he were a roach. “This is not my kingdom.” He offered Elsa his arm. “Your Majesty, I would like a word.” 

While Elsa did not appreciate his commanding tone, she was unwilling to turn him down if it meant spending another second with the rude and ignoble Lord Nilok. She ignored his offered arm and led him away from the sniveling man. 

“King Anderson…” Elsa began, dipping her head in acknowledgment. “So glad you could make it.” It had been a touchy subject, especially since no offer had been extended to Weselton. But since Hans was no longer a part of the Southern Isles’ political life (and besides that, now effectively her brother), Elsa no longer saw any advantage to cutting off all ties with them. It had come as something of a relief to her advisors. 

“I wouldn’t miss this.” King Anderson said gruffly, but not without courtesy. 

She examined him as they crossed the ballroom; this was her first time meeting Hans’ eldest brother face to face. He appeared to be the more grizzled version of Prince Christian and the more thuggish version of Hans. That being said, he projected no sense of intimidation in the ballroom. Still, he looked slightly ridiculous in his regal attire; his form felt like it would be better suited to coarser and dirtier clothing. 

“Enjoying the party?” 

He grunted in the affirmative. “I’m glad I finally got to see your kingdom for myself. My father was particularly fond of this place you know.” Elsa found it hard to get a read on him. In letters, he could be gracious and eloquent. But in person, he seemed far less so. 

“Yes, he was.” Elsa agreed, recalling the previous king’s visit over two decades ago. 

"I understand your majesty is to be leaving Arendelle in a few days.” Anderson suddenly asked. 

Elsa nodded. “We have friends in the mountains that we haven’t seen in awhile; Princess Sophie is quite eager to see them again.” 

“These..friends…one of them wouldn’t happen to be my…estranged little brother, would it?” Elsa stopped walking, pinning them in place beside one of her ice sculptures (the swan one). 

“No.” Elsa lied smoothly. “Why do you ask?” 

Anderson seemed to be considering his next words carefully. “You wouldn’t be…granting him sanctuary, would you?” 

Elsa was genuinely shocked. _That_ was what he had decided on? “The mountains are neutral territory, Arendelle lays no more claim to them than your Isles do…” she reminded him. “And I hardly think I’d be your prime suspect for granting your brother sanctuary. The man did try to kill me after all.” 

She’d long since ceased using that as a reason to dislike Hans but that was beside the point. 

The king bunched up his face, rubbing at the slight stubble that dotted his chin. “Of course, your Majesty. Forgive me, I did not mean to imply that you were…” 

_You literally said that I was…_

“We just…have an interest in retrieving our brother…” the man continued, “should he be hiding out in your lands, surely you would assist us in getting him home safe to the Isles?” 

“If he were in my lands.” Elsa said casually. “But as far as I know, he is not. So I’m afraid I cannot help you.” Not that she ever planned to. Hans was happy where he was, she would not force him back into his old life. 

Anderson narrowed his eyes at her but seemed satisfied with her answer. “Of course…thank you, Your Majesty.” 

Elsa caught sight of Anna across the ballroom and the two of them shared a signal. Turning back to Anderson, she inclined her head slightly. 

“Please excuse me, I must attend to my niece.” 

The king smirked over in Sophie’s direction, watching as the young princess climbed onto the stage. “Ah yes…I heard the princess has agreed to show off her ‘sorcery’ tonight for the first time…” 

“She prefers to call it being herself.” Elsa replied coldly, with a hint of frost in the air around her. She swept away before he could say anything else. She didn’t trust herself not to throw him through a window if he said one more arrogant or belittling thing to her. He may be the king of the Isles. But she was Queen of the land they now stood in. 

She stalked up to the platform, consciously banishing her ice behind her as it left a slippery trail. 

“Elsa?” Sophie was looking up at her, seeming worried. Elsa quickly softened her murderous expression. 

“Nothing to worry about…” she assured her, crouching beside her. “Just…dealing with someone.” 

Sophie nodded knowingly. “A stuck-up chamber infiltrator.” She replied, missing Elsa’s horrified look. “Sniveling bastards, all of them.” 

It took a conscious effort for Elsa to close her mouth again. “Where did you…?” Sophie looked up at her, confused and Elsa realized that the girl had no idea what she was saying. She was merely repeating something she’d heard. But who had put that in her mind? Anna? Or Theo? 

It wasn’t important right now. 

“Are you ready?” Elsa asked her, giving the girl an encouraging smile. Her stomach churned with nerves. She felt her forehead wrinkling up and took a deep breath to calm herself down. The flower at her collar pressed gently on her clavicle. 

Sophie was twisting her hands together, glancing around the room anxiously. 

“Sophie…” Elsa took her hands, a subtle curl of steam rising from the contact. “It’s alright to be nervous…” 

“When are Aunt Scara and Uncle Hans arriving?” Sophie interrupted, “I haven’t seen them yet.” 

Elsa was confused. It hardly seemed important at the moment. “I invited them…but they never said if they were coming or not.” She’d meant to follow up with them or have Reba send a raven to check on them. But it had slipped her mind during the party planning. “But remember, we’re going to visit them the day after tomorrow, right?” She reminded Sophie. 

Sophie nodded, still looking glum. 

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” she assured her. “Only if you’re ready to show them what you can do.” 

The girl sagged. “Yeah…but I wanted _all_ of us here for this!” 

Elsa realized then what this was. Sophie wanted her _whole_ family here to celebrate this with her. She wanted all of her sisters to witness humanity accepting their powers. 

Her heart swelling with compassion, Elsa brushed Sophie’s hair back. “They would be so proud of you if they were here right now. And I know they’re going to love the story when you tell them about this.” 

Sophie looked up at her again, her amber eyes flaring with her powers. “I _am_ ready.” She told Elsa in her true voice. 

Elsa nodded to her. “I know you are.” She stood. “Now show them who you are.” 

Giving her niece a final squeeze on the shoulder, Elsa stood and nodded to Kai. The steward called for attention across the ballroom. 

The guests quickly quieted down, most having been waiting for this exact moment since the beginning. 

“Princess of Sophie of Arendelle would now like to show the visitors to the kingdom something she has been practicing for a long while…” Kai gave the young girl a warm smile and left the stage to her. 

Sophie took a deep breath, gathering the heat in her core just like Theo had taught her. 

_It’s a part of you. You create it, you control it. Feel it. Form it. And release it._

Her first burst of fire was a brilliant blue color, a color she loved because it looked so much like Isen’s ice. 

Several in the crowd cried out in shock but Sophie was in complete control. The blast of flame burned out long before it reached anything flammable. 

The ballroom was completely silent for several long seconds. Sophie relished this. This was her moment. She just wished her heart would stop beating so fast. 

Throwing her hands upward, she released tiny flares of orange light. Their trails faded softly, painting the ballroom in a hazy glow. The reaction this time was more muted, with far more awe than fear. Guests began to drift closer, their eyes fixed on her magic. 

Sophie spun, beginning the dance she and Elsa had laboriously choreographed over the weeks before this ball. It was restrained and not nearly as carefree as she usually danced but every bit of it was hers: the embers drifting about her, the hot winds pushing from her in all directions, the flames crawling across her skin. 

She could see Jarl down below, his eyes alight with her blue flames, following as many tendrils as he could. Further behind him stood Aunt Elsa and just behind her, Aunt Theo. Both of them were beaming with so much pride that it made the young princess’ chest expand. 

Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, the soft whisper in her ear just before the ball putting more courage in her heart than she knew she had: 

_You are so loved. You have nothing to fear._

The ballroom was silent now as all the occupants watched her dance. Sophie felt the eyes on her as she moved but suddenly she didn’t mind them all watching so much. She was the flames and she could control this. The heat _wanted_ to dance, it _wanted_ to move freely. She could give it that chance. This was who she was. 

Sophie inhaled mightily, gathering the heat in her core and letting it crawl up her throat. When the tongue of fire burst from her mouth, it was as long and searing as a dragon’s breath, taking all of her focus, power, and stamina to produce. It was unplanned, completely spontaneous. But Sophie was too lost in the thrall of her powers to think about it. Or about the heavy curtains it was heading for. 

Lucky for her, Elsa had been prepared for such a thing. A blast of ice instantly coated the curtains and a huge cloud of steam filled the ballroom as the two elements collided. 

Sophie panted, the lingering heat around her shimmering gorgeously with tiny flecks of mica and ash. Her eyes met Theo’s across the heads of the guests. Her last host smiled at her, giving her a small nod. Inside her infinite mind, could sense the satisfaction all of her previous hosts would have felt if they’d just done what she had. 

_I am the Summer._

*** 

To the audience, the tongue of fire and accompanying save by Queen Elsa all looked very well-rehearsed. They broke into thunderous applause, some cheering. But Elsa could already see Kristoff’s worried face and Anna’s incredulous frown working their way towards Sophie’s place. 

Sophie took a bow, her face beaming with utter joy. Elsa’s heart twisted with a strange mixture of pride, jealousy, and dread. 

_What was she thinking?_

“Incredible!” Someone cried. 

The exclamation was quickly joined by others: 

"Amazing!" 

"Beautiful!" 

“Long live the magical royals of Arendelle!” 

Elsa nodded her thanks as she was swarmed by dignitaries, each of them echoing the praise and some spouting questions about her lineage. 

“I assure you…” she fended them off, “my parents and sister have no hidden magics. Just myself and the Princess.” 

As the vultures clamored for more, Elsa raised her head and made eye contact with the band conductor. The band hurriedly began playing a waltz, the guests drifting onto the dance floor like moths drawn to light. 

Elsa sighed in relief as people finally started drifting away from her. Maybe now she could have a talk with Sophie about her slip. 

But just as the last of the hangers-on were clearing away, someone cleared their throat. 

Elsa turned. A tall, thin man from one of the western countries was bent at the waist, offering her his hand. 

“Can I help you?” Elsa asked, feeling lost. 

He glanced up and it was only then that Elsa realized her mistake. “Your Majesty…” he bowed again, extending a hand. “May I have this dance?” 

Elsa wanted to die. She had saved herself from one inconvenience with a worse one. “It would be my obligation.” She replied and snatched his hand before he processed her response. She led him out to the dance floor and began the steps to the fastest dance she knew. The band hurriedly followed suit. Her partner was slower on the uptake. 

Elsa had always envied dancers, especially the partners who could seemingly communicate with only a look in the midst of a complex dance. Her parents had been able to do this, seemingly effortlessly. Her father had even begun to teach her the steps, back when she’d needed to stand on his feet to even reach his hands. But as she’d grown, she’d thought that dancing was not for her, not when her powers were so volatile and touch so forbidden. Even after her coronation, she’d avoided dancing, deciding that her place was on the ice and that she’d never grace a ballroom floor. But in recent years, now that her control on her powers had solidified, Elsa had taken it upon herself to learn the one royal requirement that had always been missing from her repertoire. 

Anna was thrilled and had offered her services as an instructor. She made a terrible teacher, but a good partner. Unfortunately, Elsa’s advisors had seen it as a sign that she was open to courtship. So they’d informed her that she _would_ be dancing at this ball. Elsa just hadn’t counted on so many suitors attending. 

After the first, a steady stream of men approached her, one after the other, each unable to match her firm and precise gait across the room and more than one treading on her toes. 

Elsa was desperate for a break, for anything to break this tedium of smiling politely at asinine comments her partners made. 

_Maybe I can fake a broken toe…_ She grouched to herself as yet another man trod on her foot. 

Glancing across the room, Elsa caught sight of Sophie watching someone. She followed the girl’s gaze and was surprised to see Theo tapping the side of her nose repetitively, apparently sending the girl some kind of signal from across the room. 

Elsa’s heart skipped. _Oh no…what are they up to?_

Sophie whispered something to Jarl, then darted back towards the stage. 

Jarl turned himself around and placed two fingers in his mouth, letting out a sharp whistle that pierced right through the hazy atmosphere of the band. 

“Honored guests to Arendelle…” The boy cried. Every head in a twenty-foot radius turned to him. Jarl grinned. “Watch this!” 

Elsa watched out of the corner of her eye as Sophie’s sand began to spill from the stage, forming an enormous wave. Sophie rode the crest, sliding down the sand expertly and skidding to a halt at the boy’s side. The grin they shared was adorable. 

“Step right up to sand-slide with the Princess of Arendelle!” Jarl announced, with the air of a market salesman. 

Elsa watched with admiration as people flocked to her niece, drawn by the novelty. As her partner spun her in an ill-timed turn, she turned her head back to watch the girl guide her volunteers through the activity. 

The dance ended and Elsa bowed stiffly, the band already beginning the next song. She turned to her new partner, her gaze still lingering on her niece. But to her surprise, the next pair of hands to encounter hers were familiar. 

“Now drop that forced smile off your face and glare at me like you’re supposed to.” 

Elsa actually missed a step. Her eyes shot around. “Theo?” 

The Guardian grinned. Her hand rested on Elsa’s waist and she pulled her into a turn. 

Elsa’s heart thrummed but she covered it by hissing: _“What are you doing?”_

“Dancing with you, my queen.” She shot her a wink as Elsa stumbled over a step. “Do try to keep up.” 

Elsa picked up her pace, effortlessly finding her rhythm with the Guardian. The woman’s timing was militaristic but she flowed like water. “Where did _you_ learn to waltz?” She asked, utterly surprised and delighted by this realization. 

“Did you really think I didn’t demand something in return for teaching your sister how to wield her sword?” 

Elsa giggled. “…You _danced_ with _Anna_ …?” 

“Once or twice…I started with Kristoff but we were both leading so that got awkward real fast…" 

“But…why are you…?” Theo’s hand slid further around her waist. She blushed and stretched to respond quickly. “I’m supposed to be dancing with the suitors.” She protested half-heartedly. 

“You can if you really want to. But I thought you deserved a little break.” Theo acknowledged. “Besides, I’m just doing my duty: keeping you safe and happy.” 

“By stealing me away.” Elsa pointed out, smirking. “People will be watching us…” 

Theo shrugged. “They already are.” She lowered her voice, her lips brushing Elsa’s ear. “How about we let them see how it’s supposed to be done?” 

Elsa shivered. “With pleasure." 

As the waltz ended, they remained in each other’s grip as the others bowed. With a single glance at the conductor, Elsa had the band playing a faster, more soulful song. All around the dance floor, couples stumbled to pair up and begin the new dance, barely keeping pace with the Queen and her partner. 

Now that they were done with the waltz, Elsa began to truly enjoy the feeling of dancing with the Guardian. This was more their style. It was not the first time they’d danced together. But it was the first time they’d ever done so in front of anyone besides Anna, Kristoff, or Gerda. 

Their hands twined as Theo guided Elsa through a form, the Guardian’s chest so close to her back that Elsa could feel the heat radiating off of her. She feared for her icy dress. 

“So am I to assume your little surprise was…” 

“Me cutting in to your endless deluge of stuck-up bastards treading on your toes?” Theo smirked. “Not at all. My surprise was teaching your niece the difference between ‘entertaining’ and ‘distracting.’” 

They both glanced over at the princess, now taking a dramatic bow from atop her enormous sandwave as the crowd applauded. Sophie shot off several blue flares and slid down into Kristoff’s waiting arms. 

It was far past her bedtime and even from here, Elsa could see the young girl was spent from her night. Anna began shooing the crowd away, assuring them that Sophie needed her rest and that they should return to the party. Her sister’s face was twisted in that way that meant she was worried about something. 

“…Sophie’s taught herself to breathe fire…” Elsa observed. She glanced over her shoulder. “I suppose she just found that knowledge in her memories?” 

Theo grimaced, not even trying to deny it. “I told her it was for emergencies only.” She sighed, glancing over towards Anna. “I suppose I should go talk your sister down before she bites my head off…” 

“She’ll be fine.” Elsa assured her. “Anna wont make a scene here.” Well, she was _pretty_ sure she wouldn’t… 

Theo spun her back around, so that they were front-to-front again. This time, their chests brushed ever so slightly. The song faded. 

“Still, wise to avoid confrontation.” Theo shifted, lowering herself into a half-bow, hand poised as if to kiss Elsa’s knuckles in farewell. “And I can’t steal you away all night…” 

Elsa’s grip tightened, a miniscule whip of ice curling gently up Theo’s arm to keep her from pulling away. To her surprise, it was less about the dreadful thought of needing to return to dancing with suitors and more just an involuntary reaction. “Please…” She begged, her thoughts racing as they tried to keep up with her heart. “just a bit longer then…” 

Theo could never refuse her. “Yes, my Queen.” She stepped back into place, her arm steadying around Elsa’s waist. The music began again, the conductor now knowing to take his cues only from the queen. This song was far slower, Elsa thought she recognized it from an opera a few years back. But she cared not to place it right now. Now, she was focused entirely on moving with Theo. 

Anna, making her daughter’s farewells from the event, paused as she spotted the two of them still dancing. Her attention fully on them, she found it hard to articulate the exact reaction the dance was having on her. 

From across the ballroom, little Sophie watched her aunt and her Guardian sleepily from her father’s embrace as he carried her to bed. Some ancient part of her burned with sadness but the stronger parts of her smiled in joy. Isen deserved her happiness, whatever form it took. She closed her eyes as her father carried her from the party. 

The dancers were blind to all of this: Elsa’s attention was entirely on the synchronicity they had effortlessly fallen in to. Sometime in the midst of the song, they had switched from preordained steps to something innovative and exciting. Something that no one could properly categorize. Her image was forgotten; she was now only the reflection of herself she saw in the woman dancing with her. It was liberating. 

Theo was utterly focused, completely captivated at the way their bodies moved like two feathers carried on the same breeze. Her usual public professionalism had been discarded like an unnecessary weapon and she operated solely on her desires and emotions for this moment. Her hand slid farther onto Elsa’s back, drawing the Queen that much closer to her. She was indulging in this, if only for tonight. She knew she wouldn’t get another chance at this. 

Grinning with excitement, Elsa met her partner’s eyes and gestured silently. With a nod, Theo agreed. 

The floor iced under them with barely a thought from the Queen. Without missing a step, they both slid immediately from dancing to skating, each a unique and effortless artist on the ice: Elsa a free-form snowflake and Theo a practiced master. 

Their routine took them together around the length of the ballroom, gliding past guests and columns alike as if they were one and the same. They twisted and bent in perfect sync, limbs matching as they spun and dipped; the Queen and her shadow dancing in the firelight. 

All across the room, mouths dropped open at the display. Conversations were abandoned mid-syllable and dances dropped mid-step as the guests caught sight of the dance. It beautiful and ephemeral. 

Elsa separated from Theo briefly, launching herself into an effortless jump. Her ice heels glided smoothly on the flawless surface, leaving no mark as she landed. She turned, now gliding backwards, so that she could watch Theo’s intentions. Their eyes locked as the song reached a crescendo. 

For the climax, Elsa skated right at her partner, Theo skidding to a graceful stop and holding out her arms. In a feat of such graceful strength, even the guards around the room grew envious, Theo plucked Elsa effortlessly from her dash and lifted her above her head, the two of them spinning on the ice. 

Enthusiastic applause rang out across the ballroom as they slowed, the only reminder that they were not in a world all their own. Elsa was laughing breathlessly as Theo lowered her, dipping her almost impossibly low before righting her. She fell against her partner, still reveling in their triumph, her legs shaky and weak. Theo was still holding her up, their hips pressed together. The queen felt her Guardian’s chest shaking with laugher, her joyful chuckles ghosted across her face. She opened her eyes, and for one split second, they shared the same joy, the same euphoria at their dance. But then at the same time, they both realized how close their faces were. They both heard the applause slowly dying away. 

Theo’s smile melted, along with the ice underneath them. Elsa froze, just marveling at this moment. How right it felt. How perfect. They had just danced like stage actors out of an elaborate romantic fairy tale. If either of them were a man, it would only be natural that such an event be sealed with a kiss. All it would take was for one of them to lean in just an inch and their lips would meet. She wanted to. She could see the same desire reflected in Theo, perhaps even stronger than in herself. 

But the gazes of the ballroom burned upon their skin, cramming a wall of expectations and duties into that magical inch between their lips. And as she always did, Theo was the one who stepped back. 

She had always had more control over this than Elsa had. The Guardian placed her hands deliberately on Elsa’s shoulder and waist, pulling away from her and subtly placing her back onto her own feet. She gave Elsa a moment to pause and then they finished their dance on the floor. But their ending was nothing like before. Theo spun her reservedly and kept a respectable foot between their bodies even as the space between them crackled with little static shocks. When the song ended, she separated and bowed so low to Elsa that she could not meet her gaze. 

“Thank you, your Majesty.” She whispered. Then, as if they had not just shared a moment that would stay with both of them forever, she turned and left Elsa alone on the dance floor. 

Elsa watched her walk away and her heart ached just a little more. 

From her vantage point across the ballroom, Anna looked between the two, her face tightening. 

_So it’s finally happened._

She glanced back to her sister, fighting the urge to rush to her and comfort her. She could only imagine the heartache Elsa was feeling, the storm she was keeping inside. 

But, even though every instinct in her body pulled her towards her sister, she turned and left before Elsa realized she had been watching. Such a moment, as public as it had been, felt too private for her to have witnessed. 

*** 

Elsa came back to herself as the band resumed playing, returning to their usual repertoire and she realized that she was all alone in the middle of the dance floor. Well, not for long. She could make out at least three potential partners hurrying towards her, blindly determined and egotistically certain that they could match her previous partner’s achievements. 

Elsa left the dangerous territory as quickly as she could, retreating to the safer mingling spaces between the columns. But she found herself confronted with a similar issue there. Both King Anderson and Percival seemed to be determined to reach her, stalking through the crowd; one brushing them aside, the other darting around them. 

She panicked. Was there nowhere she could hide? 

She turned, ready to make a hasty exit from her own party and found herself colliding with the backside of a man. 

It was only a lifetime of regality that kept her from sprawling on her behind from the impact. Instead she merely stumbled backward, an apology already issuing from her lips. 

“That’s quite alright.” Came a friendly voice. “I’m sure it was my fault, Queen Elsa.” 

Despite her need to escape, Elsa found herself tilting her head to examine him as he bowed to her. He looked familiar and for once, not in a way that made her immediately want to gag. 

The man looked up and she caught sight of his opaque blue eyes. 

“Prince Leif!” The man she remembered semi-fondly from Anna’s marriage celebration seemed surprised that she remembered him at all. 

“Please, your Majesty, just call me Leif.” He implored her. “There is no crown in my immediate future.” 

“That’s no reason for dismay.” Elsa assured him. “Crowns can be quite heavy." 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Percival intercept King Anderson and engage him in discussion, but not before he sent a smirk in her direction. 

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” Elsa continued. If chatting with Leif kept both of them away from her, all the better. 

Leif chuckled. “It has indeed. And I must say, the years have been kind to you. Not many reigning queens can still carry off a dance like that one in such a fine dress.” 

Elsa tilted her head to acknowledge the compliment, even as the reminder of the dance turned her stomach. She still couldn’t help comparing his features to Theo…his curly black hair and similarly-shaped jaw line, even the way he carried himself. Just like last time, the unconscious comparison felt like a heavy stone had been dropped onto her chest. 

Leif gestured at the flower on her collar: “Beautiful snowdrop…where ever did you get one this time of year?” 

Elsa brushed it with a cold finger. “It was given to me.” She murmured, surprised he knew what it was. “By…” she swallowed, “…a friend.” 

He nodded in understanding. “Someone you’ve quarreled with?” 

Elsa was stunned. “How did you know?" 

“They are often given as a message of hope for a new beginning,” Leif explained, “for the chance to create happiness. It sprouts first in the springtime, heralding the coming of warmth where there once was only winter.” He smiled for a moment but then his face shifted as if he had just realized what he had said. “Sorry…I didn’t mean to imply that…” 

“Don’t worry…none taken…” She found herself smiling back. 

“So,” Leif continued, snagging them both glasses of water from a passing server. “how are things in your kingdom? I heard that the recovery from the Battle left Arendelle with its own fledgling glassworks industry…” 

Elsa chuckled. “Well, we’re past fledgling now…” 

She ended up walking the length of the ballroom with him, discussing trade routes, news about his eldest brother (who was preparing for his coronation), and gardening, of all things. 

“I have no hand for it…” Elsa admitted, placing her now empty glass down. “But our gardens were my mother’s pride and joy and the staff keep them well managed.” 

The prince laughed in disbelief. “Well enough to produce snowdrops in summer?” 

"Apparently." 

Leif’s eyes lit up. “If it would be alright with you…I’d love to see them.” 

“Of course.” Elsa replied. “I can show you myself tomorrow.” 

Leif took her hand. “Thank you, Queen Elsa. I look forward to it.” He placed a brief kiss on her knuckle and released her. 

The action jolted something in her back into place. Elsa glanced around and realized that the ballroom was emptying out; delegates returning to their inns and palace guests drifting towards their assigned rooms. She didn’t see Anna or Kristoff anywhere…or Theo. 

“It is late.” Elsa said, finding herself a little sad to be saying goodbye but eager to leave all the same. “Please excuse me…I must retire for the evening.” 

Leif bowed but said nothing. 

Elsa made her way out of the ballroom, ducking any potential conversations with an air of importance that she’d cultivated years back. But just before she could escape back into the isolation of the dark castle corridors, someone stopped her at the door. 

“I dare say…someone captured the Queen’s attention tonight.” Duke Percival commented, tipping a glass towards her. 

Elsa was in no mood for pleasantries. “If you mean Prince Leif, yes he was the only one of the bunch I didn’t want to impale on an icicle…” It was interesting, actually how well she’d actually gotten along with him. There was a man so effortlessly similar to Theonia in appearance and rationale but without her annoying sass. Someone who she didn’t dislike and who actually respected her as a ruler and a woman. Elsa frowned. _Why_ did she feel nothing for him then? 

“He would make quite a fine match for you.” Percival admitted, ignoring how Elsa bit her lip in protest. “North Melonia is a powerful ally and has strong bloodlines.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “But I was referring to your shadow.” 

Elsa stiffened. “What about Lady Theonia?” 

Percival swirled his drink. “Your Majesty, the others may choose to ignore it but I cannot. She must be dealt with. Having a female guard is simply not practical. Besides, no husband is going to allow you to dance with another the way you danced with her.” 

“ _Allow_ me to?” Frost snapped in the air around her. Elsa leaned closer to him, “I am the Queen, Percival; a fact you seem to be forgetting more and more often these days.” 

The man merely downed his drink. “Nevertheless my Queen, it is my duty to point out when you overstep your power. Showing such favoritism to…that woman…is not going to sit well with any man sharing your throne.” 

It took a conscious effort for Elsa to back down this time. Her temper was flaring, her heart racing with an anger she so rarely felt. “We agreed no man would need to _share_ my throne.” She straightened up, determined not to lose her cool over this. “I am perfectly capable of ruling Arendelle myself. And _that woman_ , as you so disrespectfully refer to her, has saved my life more times than your advice has. She has more than earned her place at my side.” 

Percival did not seem bothered. “True.” He smirked in that way she had hated since childhood. The look that indicated he knew better than she did and she was being a foolish little child for not realizing what he did. “But Lady Theonia cannot give you the one thing you need to keep your throne.” He left her with that unpleasantly true thought and made his way back into the ballroom. 

Alone, Elsa turned and wandered into the dark. 


	9. Winter's Yearning Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What even is an update schedule?

**CHAPTER 4: WINTER'S YEARNING**  
_Part 2_

**_Kingdom of Arendelle, Mid-Summer’s Night, 1821_ **

The palace was silent as the ball came to a close. After all the guests had been cleared out (along with the remaining ice and sand) and the candles extinguished, the staff and royal family alike retreated to their chambers. Sophie was settled in her room, fast asleep, possibly dreaming. 

Anna and Kristoff were next door, curled up in bed together. But neither was finding sleep as easily as their daughter had. 

Kristoff could tell Anna was awake. His wife was a rowdy sleeper at the best of times, often rolling over or snoring softly with her mouth wide open.

But when she was completely still, he knew she was still awake. 

After nearly an hour of complete stillness, he could stand it no longer. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked into the silence. 

“No.” Came the immediate stubborn reply.

A pause.

“Yes.”

Kristoff sat up, leaning against the headboard of their bed and opened his arms. Anna immediately wriggled into them, nearly smacking him in the face in the dark. Thankfully, years of practice had him ready for such a possibility.

“Is this about Elsa?” Kristoff asked. 

“Why would it be about Elsa?” Anna inquired. 

Kristoff found it difficult to place her tone exactly. It was somewhere between innocent and insolent. 

“Just…because of the suitors.” He covered. “Last time you got pretty obsessed with vetting every single one of them…”

Anna scowled adorably at him at his choice of words. He stood by them. After their wedding, Anna had been downright scary in her mission to figure out just what all these young men had wanted with her sister. 

“Because I thought she was in love…” Anna reminded him, scoffing into his shoulder, “and that she hadn’t told me. She’d tell me now.”

Kristoff thought back to a conversation he’d had with the Queen several years ago, on the night his daughter had been born. He thought it best not to voice his opinion on the matter.

“About Sophie then?” He asked, trying to sound gentler this time.

He knew he’d hit home when Anna sighed heavily. “It’s just…she’s growing up so fast…and she’s already so powerful…but she doesn’t think…”

Kristoff recalled the accident waiting to happen from earlier that night. “She just needs to learn restraint.” he assured her. “That comes with age.” He nudged her playfully. “As I recall, you were far more reckless and daring before she came along.”

His teasing did not have the intended impact. To his surprise, Anna actually flinched at his words.

“I think about that a lot.” She admitted. “She’s so much like me…but I never had fire powers.” She looked up at him and the fear in her eyes broke his heart. “Will she be okay?”

Kristoff didn’t know what to say. He let Anna continue. 

“My parents…I know they loved us…but…” she shuddered against him, fighting back tears. “Seeing Sophie at this age now, the age when Elsa began to struggle to control her powers…it’s made me wonder…and I HATE myself for even thinking this…” She turned away from him, unable to look at his reaction as she whispered: “What if they were right to lock her up?”

“No.” Kristoff returned right away. 

“B…but…” Anna’s relief at his insistence was palpable but he could see her struggling to justify her dark thoughts. “Elsa is so much more careful with her powers because of it. I…I know it hurt us but it did protect both of us from hurting each other for our childhood.”

“And instead you hurt each other as adults…despite how careful you were.” Kristoff pointed out.

Anna was silent, but she gripped him tighter, urging him to continue.

“Elsa is a different person than Sophie is. She’s always been more cautious. Maybe more so because she was locked away for so long…but Anna…” He nudged her until she looked up at him. “Do you honestly believe that she was happier or safer because of that? Look at everything that happened. If she hadn’t been locked away for so long…repressing her feelings and her powers, do you think everything would have gone as horribly as it did?”

Anna looked down. “I dont know…” she admitted tracing a pattern on his chest. “I dont want to defend what our parents did but…I dont want to believe that they did it out of fear.”

“I cant speak for them…but Anna…” He stroked her hair. “We dont fear Sophie. We love her.”

“I love her more than anything.” Anna agreed, “but I fear _for_ her.” She looked up at him again. “Will we be enough for her?”

Kristoff glanced towards the door that separated their room from their daughter’s. “She has Elsa too. And Scara and…Hans. That’s more than you and Elsa ever had.”

Anna nodded but somehow, her silence was worse than if she’d presented another insecurity for him to lay to rest. Fear was taking root in Kristoff’s stomach, clawing at his insides as a realization he’d considered but never confirmed finally dawned on him. He couldn’t look into his wife’s eyes right now.

Because Anna, his unshakable, endlessly optimistic, fiercely protective partner in everything was terrified of the same thing he was. 

Inadequacy. 

After all, what hope did a simple ice harvester have of teaching and protecting a goddess of fire?

He’d articulated the thought, even to himself but sometimes he wondered if he were truly Sophie’s father. Not because he thought Anna had been unfaithful, far from it. But rather, sometimes he saw so little of himself in his daughter (his carefulness, his gentleness, his fine control of his emotions) that he wondered if he had really contributed anything to her personality. How was he to know? Would she mature and adopt more of his mannerisms? Or would she only amplify her current tendencies and leave him behind?

In his darkest moments, he found himself thinking that Hans was better suited to be Sophie’s father - his cunning, his struggle with his powers and his understanding of that struggle. Was that not a better father figure for his little girl?

Anna squeezed him gently around the middle, startling him out of his fears. She was waiting for his answer, watching him with concern and need in the darkness. Kristoff forced down his insecurities. They were his to tackle. He didn’t want to burden Anna with them. Not with her juggling her own set of worries about their very special daughter. 

“They…they have a greater purpose…” He told her, “something that will outlive us and maybe even change the world.” It was something he was used to; such magical destinies. In his adolescent years, he’d found it hard to accept that he would die long before Bulda or the young trolls or even Pabbie would. But age and experience had hardened him, helping him to accept that to them, his life was merely a footnote. “We are a part of that…probably.”

“Maybe…” Anna agreed. She shifted closer to him, burying her face in his neck. “so what do we do?”

_The same thing I decided to do with the trolls._ “We just have to be their family. Support them through it all…and…” He swallowed, trying to mask it as him choosing his words carefully. “Maybe we have to be willing to accept our normalcy and do whatever we can with the time we have.”

Anna pondered this for a moment. So long that he wondered if he’d accidentally said too much. “I guess so…” His wife finally said, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. 

“At least we have Theo.” Kristoff commented. If there was one certainty in all this, it was that Theo (or the next Guardian) would always been at his daughter’s side. To him, that was a huge comfort.

Anna’s face contorted. “I don’t want to talk about her…” she muttered, burrowing deeper into his side.

Kristoff brushed her hair back gently. “Did something happen?” He asked, wondering just how much he should say. “Last I saw, she was dancing with Elsa…”

“Kristoff.” Anna interrupted, raising her head to look into his face. “I said I didn’t want to talk about her.” 

He was puzzled. Anna so rarely gave him that look. It was her _Elsa-has-a-problem-only-I- can-solve_ look. 

_But why would she be…?_

Then it hit him.

“Did they…?” 

Anna shook her head, putting her head back down so he couldn’t see her face.

“Did you…?” His wife only pressed her face further into his shoulder. “Anna…” He asked, a different fear now curdling in his chest. “what did you do?”

“I did what needed to be done.” Anna admitted against his skin. He felt her grip on him tighten. “Now it’s up to her.”

She would say nothing else about it.

The two of them spent the rest of the night huddled together in the darkness, silent and sleepless against the uncertainties of their future role in their loved ones’ lives. 

***

**_Kingdom of Arendelle, Winter, 1815_ **

Elsa couldn’t find Theo. And that was disconcerting. Ordinarily, she couldn’t get away from the woman. But today…today she was nowhere to be found.

Elsa crossed the town square, the snow crunching under her feet. The winter had come early this year to Arendelle and people were hunkering down in the sudden deep freeze, some even needing to ration their wood. Elsa had spent the better part of the last two days keeping a truly frightening deep cold at bay. But by this morning, her concentration had run out, and the thick cold had settled around Arendelle. She didn’t feel it, but she knew her subjects would. 

Pausing briefly, Elsa focused her powers and breathed a few small snowmen to life. The animated things tumbled and ran around the deserted square, creating their own entertaining theatre as they played in the deep cold.

In the windows, Elsa saw several children and a few adults watching them, smiling softly at the distraction. She hurried away before any could see her and feel compelled to step outside to greet her. She needed to find the Guardian.

As she passed the blacksmith’s shop, something occurred to her. 

_She wouldn’t…would she?_

Ordinarily, she would have dismissed the idea. But she’d already checked the training grounds, Sophie’s room, the library, Theo’s various construction projects in town, and even the Guardian’s room in the dungeons. 

Where else could she be?

Elsa sighed and, leaving her snowmen to their carefree antics, entered the shop.

The warmth of the forges barely made a difference against the oppressive cold. A bell tinkled overhead as Elsa stepped inside and a large man emerged from a side room. He was muscular, balding, and marked with various scars that crisscrossed his arms and chest. Some were from battle. Most were from learning his trade.

“Your Majesty.” He bowed low but didn’t seem surprised to see her. Elsa sighed. Her intuition had been right.

“Good day, Master Michek.” She greeted him, familiar with him, as he outfitted most of the palace guard. “By chance, have you seen Lady Theonia at all?”

The blacksmith sighed heavily. Michek jerked his thumb over his shoulder at a curtain hiding his workshop from his customers. “Back room. Been here since dawn.” He growled.

Elsa’s eyes pinched in concern. “Does she come here often?”

The blacksmith grunted. “Often enough. I can’t get rid of her.”

Elsa nodded. “I’ll deal with her.” She promised. She gestured at the curtain. “May I?”

Michek nodded, standing aside to let her pass. 

Elsa crossed into the slightly warmer workshop and regarded the scene she had suspected with unease and an unexpected twinge of sadness.

Theo was blowing glass. She moved with a focused intensity but her movements seemed foreign to her. Like she was trying to make herself forget a previous dance and learn a new one. The long metal rod in her hands seemed unwieldy, the door to the stove clanged loudly every time she tried to close it. Sweat was dripping in her eyes and she was blinking so often, Elsa wondered how she could see. 

Theo pulled the rod from the stove, quickly bringing the end she had been holding to her lips. The gelatinous bubble of molten glass at the hot end of the rod inflated with her breath but sagged the second she removed her lips. 

Theo’s glare could have melted iron. She smacked her end of the rod into the stove, letting loose a horrible clanging sound. Her torso shook like she was trying not to cry.

Taking a deep breath, Elsa stepped into the room, pulling a cool breeze with her. Theo stiffened as her wind passed over her, her shoulders tightening like she had been caught doing something wrong.

“Didn’t think to look for you here…” Elsa began, stepping closer. It was unbearably hot next to the stove. “I only remembered because of your glass orb…”

Theo put the glassblowing rod down, crushing the misshapen lump of plastiky glass she’d been forming on the end. Elsa was about to comment on the destruction when she noticed the warrior’s hands and cried out in surprise.

“Your hands!” She snatched one, her ice already flowing over the red and blistering skin. “Have you been pulling the glass without tools?”

Theo shrugged, yanking her hands free from the cooling touch without wincing but avoiding Elsa’s gaze.

“I know when you’re lying.” Elsa chastised her, making to take her hand again.

Theo gave her a look. _Hard to lie when you can’t speak…_ She heard the voice in her mind as clearly as if she had spoken and stepped back in shock.

Over the past year, the Queen had begun recognizing when Theo clearly had a snarky comment ready to go but her vow prevented her from speaking it. Sometimes it was satisfying (the woman’s wit had always annoyed her). Other times, Elsa heard the words so clearly that she physically ached for her to say them. This was one of those times. 

“Please…” Elsa pleaded with her. “Just…let me look at them.”

The Guardian hesitated, her eyes darting to the abandoned rod and over Elsa’s shoulder. Finally she bowed her head and extended her palms forward. Elsa examined the skin in front of her, wincing at the swollen blisters and raw skin.

“Why would you do this? You know you’re not protected from the heat anymore…”

Theo’s mouth contorted into something between a grimace and a smirk. Elsa raised her hands over Theo’s and brought her powers to her hands, a soft blue light falling onto the angry red skin. Theo shivered slightly at the change in temperature and Elsa was struck by how foreign of a sensation that must be to the woman. She herself wasn’t affected by the cold and was protected from most forms of heat. But she couldn’t imagine ever losing that part of her. 

Elsa slowly moved her hands around Theo’s, making sure to keep her ice at just the right temperature.

“Do you miss it?” She asked softly. “…not being affected by the heat and cold?”

They were both still for a moment, so long of a moment that Elsa wondered if Theo was ignoring the question. But then she gave a tiny nod. 

“If you had the chance,” Elsa asked, hesitating to make sure she phrased her question correctly,“…would you take your powers back?”

Theo shook her head curtly. She looked up at Elsa so intently that the queen found it hard to discern what the Guardian might have said if she could speak.

“Let me help…please?” She dropped her hands that much closer, mere centimeters keeping them from touching. 

Taking a deep, silent breath, Theo reached up and pressed their hands together. Elsa’s ice flowed over the burned skin, soothing the blisters and numbing the pain. It was an easy application of her powers; Elsa could do it without thinking. But the sensation of Theo’s warm, calloused hands under hers was proving to be a hard distraction. Her grip was gentle but Elsa could sense the power Theo was holding back. 

_She has gotten so much stronger._

With a jolt, Elsa realized that this was the first time they’d touched in almost a year. It wasn’t from malice; it was just that the Guardian always kept herself at arm’s length, her hands respectfully distant from Elsa. 

And Elsa…she’d tried to keep her distance as well.

Was that merely because of their new roles? Or were they both avoiding the changes between them? 

Before, they had been polar opposites, the mere brushing of their skin being enough to cause steam to rise between them. But now, her hands were merely warm to Elsa’s cool skin, like a fire burned low and glowing in a hearth. A human, comfortable kind of warmth. It was unsettling; holding the memory of their previous perfect contrast in her mind while soaking in this current change.

Theo winced as Elsa’s ice passed over a particularly nasty blister and Elsa saw her bite her lip to restrain a grunt.

Since that day in the throne room all those months ago, not a single sound had passed from her lips. Not a laugh, not a sigh, not even an involuntary grunt of pain.

_Why did I demand that of her?_

Elsa took a quiet, deep breath. “If you’re hurt…in any way…I can help.” The offer made her heart race unexpectedly. “You dont have to hide it.”

Theo sighed silently and deflated, the quiet gesture making it seem like she was letting go of a hope she’d held on to for a long time.

Slowly, she pulled their hands apart. She only offered Elsa a grateful but restrained smile before she went to retrieve the rod from the floor. 

As she snapped the cooled, misshapen glass from the end, Elsa laid a gentle hand on the tool. Frost crept all along the length, ignoring only a small section around Theo’s hand. 

“Come home…” Elsa pleaded, “Sophie’s missing you.” 

Theo didn’t look at her, her eyes fixed on the dancing flames in the furnace. 

Elsa tugged the rod gently, feeling Theo’s grip on it loosen ever so slightly. “You dont have to hide like this.” She urged. “Come home.”

She tried not to make it sound like a command. But Theo reacted as if she’d ordered her.

An uncomfortable corrosive feeling churned in Elsa’s stomach as she watched the woman replace the rod, close the stove, and turn on her heel to leave. All of it with military precision.

Elsa followed, sticking close to her. 

They left the shop, Michek bowing low to Elsa but glaring at the Guardian like he’d just eradicated a particularly nasty pest. 

Theo did not acknowledge his disdain but Elsa could see the hurt hiding in her face. Michek’s shop had been badly damaged in the Battle, although mostly from her ice. He’d only recently recovered.

They stepped back into the cold, the Guardian shivering slightly at the deep chill. Elsa stretched out her powers and managed to push the worst of the cold away from them for a short distance. If Theo felt the change, she didn’t indicate it. 

Their walk was silent and stilted, broken only by Theo’s soft, crunching footsteps in the snow. Elsa wanted to speak to her but she knew it would be one-sided at this point. Theo was deep in her own head, her gaze distant and unfathomable and focused anywhere but on Elsa.

_What is she thinking?_

There was no way to know.

No, Elsa realized. She didn’t want to speak to her. She wanted to speak _with_ her. She _missed_ their arguments.

At the time, it had seemed like such a perfect solution. So soon after her return from being presumed dead, Elsa found she didn’t want to hear Theo’s voice; she didn’t want the woman’s volatile and brash nature to rub up against hers in front of her subjects or her family. She didn’t want their words to bring them to blows again, like it so often had when Theo had been Branna’s host. She didn’t want to throw her ice at her again, even accidentally, without Branna’s flames to combat it. So she’d asked her to do something for her. 

_Complete silence. Indefinitely. You said you were repentant. Prove it._

As expected, Theo hadn’t taken to the vow well. For over a year, she’d silently pushed Elsa more and more, forcing her to command her to do things instead of merely obeying when Elsa asked. But to Elsa’s surprise, she hadn’t initially resisted or fought back verbally in any way, not even voicing a protest before agreeing. After the first few weeks, when Elsa would catch her furiously biting her tongue to quell its disobedience, Theo had retreated inside herself, only her eyes displaying her opinions on various matters. If anything, it felt like she wasn’t really there most of the time anymore.

_But she_ is _here. She’s just…_

Elsa glanced at her Guardian, watching her stare blankly at the snowflakes drifting around them. 

Once, her snow had brought such emotions to those eyes. She sometimes dreamed of that day in her ice palace when Theo had admired her ice like it was the most perfect thing in existence. Now, the Guardian seemed to be locking any of that emotion away, deep inside of herself, refusing to feel it at all. Empathy tore at Elsa, laced with a heavy, jagged edge of guilt. With so much bottled up inside, how did Theo keep from bursting?

Elsa recalled a hole in the middle of the street, the perfect shape of the Guardian’s fist. She remembered a trembling hand dripping with blood.

Her endless memories stepped in, scenes of previous Guardians destroying opponents in blazes of fury that granted them unconquerable strength flashing across the surface of her mirror, momentarily blinding her to anything but silvery eyes, rippling muscles, and triumphant warriors. 

Elsa blinked, realizing that while she’d been overwhelmed by her memories, they’d reached the palace again. 

Theo had left her side, wandering aimlessly back down into the dungeons. One of her hands traced a gentle pattern on the stone walls. She carried no light with her, preferring to step into the darkness unaided.

Elsa’s heart clenched. She looked so…alone. 

Watching her walk away, refusing to turn back to dip her head in farewell, Elsa felt a torrent of guilt that she was not prepared for grip her in an unshakable deep cold. 

_Maybe she is bursting. And it’s my fault._

_But even now…I still can’t forgive her._

***

**_Kingdom of Arendelle, Mid-Summer’s Night, 1821_ **

Sleep was impossible.

Elsa rolled over again, her mind absolutely exhausted but her body refusing to let her rest. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt airborne again, she felt the lingering warmth of Theo’s hands holding her aloft in their dance. She felt the phantom beats of the Guardian’s heart against her chest.

_This is ridiculous. We’ve danced together before!_

But they’d never danced like that. And never in front of so many people.

_“She must be dealt with. No husband is going to allow you to dance with another the way you danced with her.”_

Percival’s words had awakened a kind of resolute fury within her. Did everyone witnessing that really see their behavior as something to be scorned? Were they wrong? Was it her fate to be forced apart from any future such dance with the Guardian because of a husband’s hands taking her place? If they’d been alone, would Theo have kissed her? 

She’d never indicated that she’d wanted to before…

A cold vice gripped Elsa’s stomach. Had Anna seen?

The thought of her sister suspecting the same thing Percival clearly did had Elsa unexpectedly surrounded by snowfall. If they were…leaning towards each other that obviously, Anna would have noticed. She would have said something…right?

The logical part of her brain was fried trying to balance her sister’s assumed reaction and the reactions of the people at the ball with the look Theo had given her as their faces drifted closer.

_What does this all mean?_

Turning to her bedside table, Elsa stared at the frozen, out-of-season flower illuminated by the weak moonlight. It taunted her with something she could not articulate.

Finally, Elsa could stand it no longer. She threw herself out of bed, her bare feet padding softly on her floor, a small snow flurry whirling about her head. This couldn’t wait until morning. This had to end now.

She wrenched open her door and froze in surprise. Her snow hung suspended in the air, unnaturally still.

Theo was just outside, her fist raised as if to knock. 

“Uhh…”

For a moment, they both just stared at each other, each too startled by the presence of the other. Theo’s gray eyes shone silver in the moonlight, wide and scared. It was an emotion she so rarely saw on the woman’s face.

Finally, Elsa came to her senses. She stepped aside, silently motioning Theo to enter. She barely registered that this was the first time Theo was entering her room since she’d been the summer host who’d arrived on a tornado all those years ago.

The Guardian waited for Elsa to shut the door again before her words came pouring out. 

“Elsa…this has to stop.” She pleaded. She looked like she’d been walking for hours. She was still dressed in her suit from the party but her hair had come undone, soft wisps of raven curling away from her braid. Her face was flushed and her eyes bloodshot. 

Elsa folded her arms over her chest, feeling her powers snap defensively. “You’re hardly doing anything to curtail…whatever this is.” She retorted, hating that this was somehow already becoming an argument. 

Theo bristled. “You…I…” Stopping herself, Theo took a deep breath, the action making her entire form shudder. When she opened her eyes again, they were calmer. “You’re right.” She admitted. “I don’t want to argue. I’ve been…reckless lately with my feelings. Perhaps I went too far tonight. But I was only trying to be for you what Garret was to me: a friend, an advisor and a brother.”

“You and I could never be just that…” Elsa replied, bitterly recalling the words they’d shared at the fireplace on Theo’s first night in the castle. “Did you really think we could?”

A sad smiled pulled at the Guardian’s lips. “I thought we might eventually become friends.”

“We are. But now…” Elsa shrugged hopelessly. “What are we now?”

Theo was silent, her eyes sliding to Elsa’s. She didn’t seem to know how to answer that simple question. Before tonight, she’d always acted as if Elsa were merely something between a friend and a superior. That had served them well over the years. Except for those few glowing moments when their hands might linger together, when their eyes met unexpectedly, when they suddenly found the distance between them all at once far too short and insurmountable. 

They both knew what those moments meant. They’d just never admitted it out loud. 

Theo closed her eyes, preparing herself for something. “Elsa…I have to…I…I’m not going to be silent about this any longer…I…” She bit her lip, struggling to regain her words. She didn’t seem to be able to go on.

Her feet leaden, Elsa took a small step forward. “Do you care for me?” Elsa asked softly. 

The Guardian curtly nodded her head. “Of course I do.” The words were out, hanging in the thick air between them like a cloud of steam.

“Then why not?” Elsa breathed. All of her snow evaporated at the soft suggestion. 

The Guardian seemed to be struggling with herself. “Because…because I…because it’s not right, Elsa.”

Elsa scoffed. “I don’t care that you’re a woman…” She never had. All she wanted was to _know_.

Theo huffed in agitation. “That’s not what I mean.” She shifted, one hand defiantly reaching towards Elsa’s hip. She watched it warily but did not snatch it away or make contact. “You’re not just a queen…You’re a living goddess. I am but a lowly soldier of the Mother imbedded in a human form.” She lowered her head slightly and clasped her hands to prevent further wanderings. “It…wouldn’t be appropriate.”

Elsa scoffed again, harder this time. “So this isn’t a sexuality issue for you, it’s a _class_ issue?”

Theo shrugged. “Isen and Branna were the most famous lovers in the Mother’s Realm. They kind of set the standard for sexuality.”

Her feet took another step closer. “What if I gave you permission?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it? Help me understand, because I hate this uncertainty.”

“I cant…let my feelings for you distract me from my duty.”

“And it hasn’t already? What about tonight? The dance?” Elsa took another step forward. Their lips were now mere centimeters apart. “What was that if not a distraction from your duty? Don’t you think that you are already distracted enough without being my lover?”

Theo tensed noticeably. “Stop.”

But the quiet command was enough to tip Elsa past the point of reason. “I never know what to think around you anymore! It’s a constant hot and cold with you and it’s driving me insane. What are we?”

The Guardian’s arms folded tightly across her middle. “Stop it!”

“No, I want a straight answer!” Elsa hissed at her. “How much of it was real? How much did you really care for me before you adopted this self-imposed celibacy?” Frozen tears stung her eyes but she couldn’t stop herself. “How much was just you pretending so that Branna could have her…”

“STOP!” Something in Theo’s commanding voice struck a resonate chord in Elsa. She froze, her powers muted but not out of her control.

Theo was trembling, collapsed in on herself, jammed up against the door like she wanted to escape. “Just…stop…” She looked so small. “I…I…shouldn’t…” She was actually crying. In all the years she’d known her, Elsa had only ever seen her cry one other time.

Elsa moved forward, her legs responding as if she were swimming through molasses. She reached out for her Guardian, not even a single snowflake in the air. Any hesitancy she felt was long gone at the sight of the woman like this.

“Theo…” She had been wrong. It wasn’t enough to just know. She had to _feel._

Her fingers brushed the woman’s cheek, more of a suggestion of touch than actual contact.

Still, touching Theo sent an electric shock through her. Her powers snapped, a biting frost scouring through the room, accompanied by a flurry of glittering snowflakes. None of this but the brush of her fingertips seemed to affect Theo. She unfolded herself slowly, looking up into her Queen’s eyes.

Elsa shifted slightly, her hand cupping Theo’s cheek. A soft frost crept across the Guardian’s skin but it melted before it got too far. Theo never looked away.

She raised a steady hand, reaching for Elsa’s face in return. “I should be better than this…” she said softly, more to herself than to Elsa.

Elsa pulled her closer. “You don’t have to be…not with me…” She leaned forward, placing them in the same position as earlier that night and waiting patiently for Theo to make up her mind. There was no crowd this time. No expectations. No uncertainty. This was what they had always been destined for.

Theo glanced down once, her eyes tracing over her left forearm. Then she leaned in.

Their first kiss was tentative and soft; remembering the feeling of how it used to be and how it had changed now that Branna was no longer a factor. Theo’s strong lips brushed Elsa’s slowly, her tension relaxing with a contented sigh as they encountered the cold of winter’s breath. She slid closer, one of her hands daring to reach for Elsa’s waist. Elsa settled easily into the embrace, her mouth falling open. Theo’s tongue gently probed her mouth. 

It didn’t feel like a fight anymore. It felt…startlingly real. It felt like a warm, calloused touch on her shoulder and soft lips plying against hers, like hard muscle contracting under her fingers and sharp intakes of breath. Ice playing along steel.

The hand on her shoulder applied pressure and their kiss broke. “Stop me. Please.” Theo begged. She was shaking. “I’m going to hurt you…” But she didn’t pull back.

“I cant.” Elsa admitted, panting. She melted into her guardian, her forehead lying against Theo’s. After a moment, the Guardian moved, lowering her head to press into Elsa’s shoulder. Elsa felt hot tears trickle onto her gown. The Queen of Winter sighed heavily, releasing a great weight from her soul as she encircled the Guardian. Her body was suddenly lighter, less of a burden on her immortal mind. She never wanted to leave this place. Here they were free. Here they were complete.

Theo scooped her up bridal style, her forehead never leaving the place where it fit perfectly against Elsa’s neck. Elsa let herself be carried, not caring about the display or her vulnerable position.

Pressed against each other, they settled onto Elsa’s bed, their closeness equal parts erotic and essential. Words failed them both. Swallowing hard, Elsa pressed two fingers to Theo’s lips. Without breaking eye contact, she pressed the same fingers to her own lips. 

Theo nodded and leaned down to kiss her again.

Elsa let Theo’s warm hands melt her ice gown one hesitant handprint at a time. Her own hands worked at the many buttons and ties of the formal suit, tracing each piece of golden skin revealed in a cold caress. The thin white scars on the Guardian’s back received particular attention.

As the last of their clothes fell away, thick curtains of ice formed at the frame of the bed and draped over the couple, sealing them off from the judgmental eyes of the outside world. Inside, the two women became each other’s new world, full of everything necessary and vulnerable that lies silently on the skin of lovers and binds their souls eternally.  
In this moment, Elsa found what she’d been looking for over her long, long life.

_“Elsa…”_

***

Sophie woke to a dark castle. She lay in bed quietly for a moment, listening and trying to decipher just what had stirred her from sleep. The palace was silent, devoid of even the colorful chatter from the ball earlier that evening.

She felt the sensations in the air though. An uneasy conversation in hushed voices, the sting of uncertainty and the euphoric realization that a border had been crossed. Something was missing too. A long-familiar pain had finally vanished from the air, melting into the ether like snow on hot steel.

Sophie smiled as she rolled over and drifted back to sleep. It felt good. Sad, but good. Something had finally fallen into its proper place. Isen was finally free.

***

**_Unknown location, Spring, 1820_ **

Hans stirred, his head pounding.

_What…what happened?_

“Ahh. Good. You’re finally awake.”

He knew that voice…something was kicking in the back of his memory.

He cracked his eyes open, feeling like he hadn’t tried to do that for days. “Where…am I?” He rasped, his throat to dry to form words. His memories trickled back in slowly, in tiny flashes. _Angry, black eyes…the twang of a crossbow shot…Scara’s scream…_

He sat bolt upright, the last of the fog fading away. “Where is he? Where’s Scara?!”

The man at his bedside sniffed disapprovingly. “Now now Prince Hans…that’s no way to thank your rescuers.” A self-satisfied smirk curled up from under his squashed nose. “You’re perfectly safe. As long as you cooperate.”

Now Hans recognized him. That snooty valet from Weselton. “Tell me where she is.” He commanded, feeling his powers snap. Inwardly he felt for Død. A terrifying emptiness greeted him. 

_“Død!”_ He probed for her but could not feel her within him. _“Død!”_

She did not answer. Fear such as he had never known iced his veins.

“What have you done?” He asked the man before him. “Where is she?”

The valet chided him softly. “Enough, Prince Hans…” he stood, extending his arm towards the door. “there’s someone who wants a word with you…”

Hans saw red. “What. Have. You. Done.” His powers flared, lashing out and striking like a viper.

The Valet dropped to the ground, his life extinguished with a mere flicker of Hans’ rage. He felt no remorse. His every thought was about Scara, Livet, and Død. He had to find them.

He rose from the bed, his eyes flicking around the sparse quarters. 

The locked door was little more than an annoyance. It rotted away with a simple touch. Hans stepped into the stone corridor, his anger coiling hotly in his stomach. The guards who ran at him crumpled instantly as they met his Breath.

The smarter Guards tried to fire their arrows at him but he merely turned the wooden shafts to dust and pushed his Breath towards them. They fell before him.

Hans took a stance as more came at him. “WHERE ARE THEY?” He shouted. The very stones around him quivered as his powers crawled all through the building, seeking out every life within.

_Hans…Hans stop…please…_

The weak voice in his head calmed him instantly. _“Død?”_ His utter relief at feeling her with him again instantly tamed his rage. She was still here. She was okay.

He stumbled as his rage faded, the Breath dissipating with it. It was spring time and they were weak. 

The spirit in his head felt smaller than she had in years. She felt like she had the times he had been shoving her into the darkest corner of his mind and tormenting her with vengeful thoughts. 

_“Død? What is it? What happened to you?”_

_It’s…the darkness…it’s too much…_

It was only then that he realized what he’d been about to do. What was already starting to take shape in his hand.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…” He banished the blade back into its dark room, shaking his hand to rid himself of the sensation of gripping it. He opened up his mind to her completely and she flooded in, gratefully sharing his flesh again. He could still feel her weariness and her fear encircling him with dead leaves, the exhaustion she felt seeping into his bones. 

That was the moment the guards surrounded him, half a dozen weapons against his throat. 

“Enough.” Came a voice from down the hall. “Where’s your sense of diplomacy?”

Hans glared over the heads of the guards, barely able to see the man who was to blame for all of this. “You…” He clenched his fist but refused to call the blade again. “What do you want with me?” He spat.

The Duke of Weselton shook his head. “So rude.” His terrible toupee wobbled atop his skull. “Dear boy, have your court manners truly deserted you after a few years in exile?”

Hans refused to rise to that jab. “Where is Scara?” He demanded.

“All in due time my boy.” The man clapped his hands and the guards lowered their weapons and stepped back, leaving Hans a clear path to his captor. 

The Duke gestured him forward. “Come, we have a lunch prepared. Then we can have a civilized chat about your…” he wrinkled his nose. “…friend.”

In his head, Død wearily uncoiled, perking up at the mention of her sister.

Surrounded and utterly exhausted from his previous outburst, Hans found his only option was to follow the repulsive little man. 

***

Over his years living in the temple, Hans had grown used to the vegetarian cuisine favored by Scara. But the spread of meats, cheeses, and other delicacies from his previous life as a prince was tempting. The only things keeping him from indulging in the Duke’s hospitality was his overpowering concern for Scara and his lingering suspicion that the food was probably poisoned. 

“You’re not eating my boy.” The Duke observed. The little man’s plate was stacked high with meats. They were seated in some kind of office, with the desk before them covered in platters of food. 

“Where is Scara?” Hans demanded again. 

The Duke glared at him. “Eat. Boy.”

Hans tore off the end of a loaf of bread, barely keeping his temper in check enough to keep it from rotting in his hands. Never taking his eyes off the Duke, he took a small bite. 

This seemed to be enough to placate the man.

“You are my honored guest, Prince Hans.” The Duke said, tucking into his own food. “What kind of host would I be if I didn’t insist on hospitality?” He chuckled.

_Some host…_ Død snarled. _He has no respect for anyone. He drags us from our home and expects gratitude in return…!_

Hans gently shushed her, unwilling to speak out loud to her in front of the Duke. _"Patience. He knows where they are…"_

Død begrudgingly went quiet, but Hans could feel her anxiety flaring.

“Well my boy?” The Duke continued, probing some question Hans hadn’t even registered that he’d asked. 

“I killed your men.” Hans reminded him. “Your valet.” The deaths did not weigh upon him. They were keeping him prisoner. They had Scara and Livet. He would kill everyone in this castle if it meant finding them safe and sound.

The Duke was nodding his head. “Ah yes, a small price to pay for a greater reward.” He commented, as if Hans were merely discussing matters of trade compensation. Even for Hans’ lack of concern about the deaths, the Duke’s outright dismissal of them disgusted him.

Hans’ eyes narrowed. “What reward?”

The Duke smiled “Your help of course, my dear Prince Hans.”

A servant woman handed Hans a cup of warm tea than scampered from the room.

“Help with what?” Hans asked.

“Revenge on Arendelle.” The Duke replied, as if it were obvious.

Hans raised an eyebrow. _Ah._

“I know you harbor so much ill will towards that…” He wrinkled his nose. “…disgusting little kingdom. And when I learned of your powers, well, it all seemed just a bit _too_ fortuitous. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, as the saying goes.” The man raised his own cup of tea in a toast. “To new alliances for old grievances!”

“I have no desire to take revenge on Elsa or her kingdom.” Hans replied evenly. “Perhaps you heard but I’ve already done that…several years ago.” He cupped the tea but did not sip it. His lingering guilt over his attack on Arendelle was chilling the tea to an unappetizing temperature. “Elsa and I have settled our differences.” He told the Duke. “I have no further wish to see her or her kingdom harmed.”

This all appeared to be news to the man. “That was you?!” He asked, incredulous. “B…but you dont have fire powers!”

“The fire was merely a distraction for my real goal.” Hans replied, bitter at the memory of his desperation to kill Anna. “I was there. I was just subtler than my companion.”  
The Duke peered at him, seeming to be pondering something. Hans could care less.

“So, seeing as I have nothing you want and you have something of mine.” He started to rise from his chair. “I think we’re done here.”

The man hardly seemed bothered by Hans’ aggression. He picked up a tiny bell and rang it shrilly. “Quid pro quo, Prince Hans.” The Duke said, tucking back into his plate. “You give me something I want and I give you something you want.”

Someone entered the room but Hans was too focused on the Duke to see who it was.

“What if I just overpowered you and took it by force?” Hans asked, his voice deadly calm. His arms were still shaking from his exhaustion at using his powers so wildly before.

The man actually laughed. “Oh but you wont…” He wiped his face with a napkin. “I know your type, Prince Hans…low on the totem pole, desperate to climb it.” He sneered at Hans. “And you sorcerers are all the same: chained to your power. I put a winter witch to death because she gave in to her curse in pursuit of power. But you…” He cocked his head, tapping his chin as he watched Hans. “You hid yourself away…ashamed by your failure in Arendelle. You’re a coward.”

“There is a difference between running in fear and choosing to stop fighting.” Hans replied, quoting a legend he’d read some time ago. Something about Branna in the Underworld…

“And which are you?” The Duke asked, his glasses wriggling as he arched his eyebrow. “I think you’re just wasting from lack of ambition.”

“Ambition for what? Power? A crown?” He scoffed. “I no longer need those things.”

“But don’t you see? You can take what you desire.” 

Now it was Hans’ turn to laugh. “You think I haven’t considered that?” He spat at the man. “I’ve fought my powers before; what they were, what they did. And I’ve used them selfishly in pursuit of power and revenge. But things are different nowadays.” He flicked his fingers and the large study window flew open. A cold breeze drifted in, feeling far too dense and heavy for springtime. Several dead leaves, brown and curled, skittered across the floor. “I am the Autumn, I am in control.”

The Duke shivered but his eyes glowed with intrigue. “But imagine what your powers could do!” He urged. “Imagine the power you could attain if only…!”

“I know what they do.” Hans interrupted. He knew of the corruptive nature of his powers, he’d read the legends of Død’s hosts that were used as weapons until they could be saved. “More so than anyone else on this Earth. And that is why I refuse to let you ever get close enough to see what that is.” He sat back in his chair. With another flick of his fingers, the window slammed shut. “My answer is no.” With a swift, silent apology to Død, he readied himself for a fight. 

The Duke’s eyes narrowed. “Very well…” He lowered his head.

Before Hans could react, something behind him gripped the back of his neck. He jerked his head back and caught sight of a pair of dark eyes staring contemptuously at him.

Fear curdled in his chest. “You…”

His Breath snapped reflexively but the man holding him did not die.

Then something struck the side of his head and he collapsed on the cold stone floor, panting and unable to think straight. His spilled tea seeped under his face.

“Take him away.” The Duke ordered above his head. “Until he reconsiders his position, his new home will be my dungeon.”

Hands grabbed him under the arms and pulled him from the room. Through his blurry vision, Hans watched as the Duke and the mysterious man at his side grew smaller. As the guards dragged him through the castle, Hans was conscious enough to reach into the well of power in his eyes. 

The path they were dragging him down was filled with a faint green mist. 

Relief flooded both Hans and Død.

Scara was alive. And she was here.

***

As Hans was dragged away, the Duke turned to the Mercenary. 

“I told you he wouldn’t agree. He’s too stubborn,” The Duke waved his hand at the mess of spilled tea on the ground. “if that boy thinks he has the advantage, then he is dead wrong…”

The Mercenary looked towards the window, studying it carefully. Outside, spring breezes ruffled the buds on the trees. Several on the closest tree were brown and shriveled, having lost their chance at life already.

_Interesting._

“He’s the only one who can wield the power of that Shard…” the Duke continued, pacing angrily. “And that weapon is our best chance against the ice witch.” He knocked the spare plate off the table with a snarl. “He’s our last chance. We _need_ him.”

The Mercenary cut his eyes at the childish display but his expression didn’t change.

The Duke waved a hand. “I know you know all this, my boy. I’m just frustrated to hit yet another dead end…first the Shard and that incompetent blacksmith and now Death’s self-imposed righteousness…” He paused as if something had just occurred to him. “Perhaps your master could…?”

He shook his head just once and the Duke fell silent. He heard the man sigh heavily and knock over his own teacup.

“Well then…what can we do?”

A coil of disgust whipped in his stomach, curling the corner of his lip ever so slightly.

_He would really give up so easily? Why must I be subject to this man’s childish whims Master? Just let me kill him…kill them both._

But like all good hunters, he knew when to stalk and when to hide. The blow must be struck at just the right time or else all this would be for nothing.

“We have to use something he cares about to break him.” he said quietly and the Duke immediately ceased muttering. “He is immune to threats against himself, we must externalize them.” He lifted his eyes back to the tree. “The girl.”

He could see the Duke’s face lift in a smile in the reflection. “Ahhh. Yes.” 

The tiny man walked up to him and clapped him on his shoulder. “This is why I keep you around dear boy…you are so full of glorious insights.”

The Mercenary said nothing. As the Duke left, calling for his guards, he stooped and picked up one of Hans’ leaves.

_We are close Master. Your day draws near. Just give me the wisdom and the strength to stay my hand until it arrives._

He crushed the crinkly leaf to dust in his palm. “Soon you will be His, Autumn. His debts are not forgotten.”

*** 

Hans awoke slowly again, his head throbbing. 

“Død…” He croaked, his voice hoarse. “Død…”

_I’m here…_

She was curled up in his head, her form lumpy and concealed by dead leaves. She sounded just as exhausted as he did. But even her presence was a relief to him. Not being able to feel her…that was terrifying.

Hans shifted, his eyes refusing to adjust to the gloom. “What…where are we?” Something restricted his movement. He tried to stand up but his feet did not obey.

“What the…?”

He was already upright. Hans shifted his shoulders and slowly figured out his predicament. He was chained upright by his arms in the center of a cell. His feet brushed the floor just enough that he could stand on his tiptoes. Chains rattled from his ankles when he tried.

“Oh come on…”

“Comfortable?”

His head snapped towards the noise. 

Someone struck a match and the light was so intense that his vision swam.

“Welcome to your new accommodations, Prince Hans…” The match lit a lantern, the light spilling into the floor of the cell.

Hans shook his head, blinking rapidly. “Hardly accommodating…” Slowly, he was able to make out two figures in front of him. One was the speaker, the man he was quickly coming to hate more than his own father. But when he recognized the second, he flinched so badly that his chains rattled like leaves on a branch.

The man was silent and stoic, his dark eyes watching Hans impassively from behind the Duke. His mere presence was more disconcerting to Hans than being chained in this cell.

“You refused our hospitality…” The Duke reminded him, crossing his legs in the chair he occupied. “So now we’re going to do this the hard way.”

“Where is Scara?” Hans demanded. He could feel dried blood on the side of his face and his shirt still clung wetly to him where the tea had spilled. He tried to get his vision to work, to see the green mist that show him where she was. But the second he reached for it, Død cried out in discomfort.

“So fixated on her…” the Duke tutted. “I would think you’d care a little more about my plans for you?”

Hans didn’t dignify that with a response.

“You see my boy…I haven’t been idle all these years…no, not at all.” He shifted in his seat. “First there was the fallout to deal with. Did you know that losing your closest trading partner tends to cost you most of your others? No one trusts you anymore. So Weselton suffered, all because of Queen Elsa. So I started looking for ways to enact my vengeance on her…”

“I thought I made it clear that I really don’t care about your petty revenge on Arendelle.” Hans interrupted. “If you’re planning to make me help you by boring me to death with your quest…you’re gonna need more than chains.”

The Duke was silent, glaring at Hans in the gloom. He clicked his tongue once.

The man beside him blew something towards Hans, a fine dust. 

Instantly, every muscle in his body seized violently. 

“Arrrggghhhh!” He strained against his chains, feeling Død crying out in concern for him. 

The pain ended as quickly as it began and he sagged against his chains, panting.

“I started researching.” The Duke continued, as if nothing had happened. “And I contacted your brothers.”

Hans froze. 

“They told me about your…abilities. From there, it was just a simple search for more about sorcerers like you.” The man leaned forward. “And you know what I found?”

Hans just glared, unwilling to give anything away.

“A suspicious lack of records about people with powers like yours and Queen Elsa’s. It was as if they had been deliberately erased from the histories of every nation. That would have been the end of my search…until my friend here came to Weselton.”

Hans’ eyes darted to the silent warrior, fear curdling in his stomach.

“He was…most informative. His Master, you see, has a vested interest in you and your…fellows. In return for helping him find you, he offered me the knowledge I sought.”

The warrior had no reaction to the Duke’s story but his gaze did not waver from Hans. 

“So yes,” the Duke continued, “I know all about your Temple…and your ‘sisters’. And more importantly, I know about your true power. And I’ve found the source of it.”

The man leaned forward further, his face practically pressed against the bars of the cell. “You lost more than your precious nose on Arendelle’s fjord, didn’t you?”  
Hans’ heart clenched. “What did you say?”

“You heard me…” The Duke smirked. “When Princess Anna shattered your precious Sword, you never found all the pieces did you? Well, we found a missing Shard, _Glasskår pinens_ as the legends call it. It will be our key to overthrowing Queen Elsa.”

Hans felt Død cringe, her form collapsing further. “You don’t know what you’re doing…” he found himself pleading, “that Sword is evil and even thinking about using it will corrupt your mind!”

“I’m not thinking of using it, my dear boy.” The Duke assured him. “I _am_ going to use it. As soon as we harness it, we will take our revenge on Arendelle: with or without you.”

“Then why bother with me?” Hans snarled. But then something occurred to him. “You…you cant control it…” The thought was both a comfort and a source of terror. “You can’t control it!”

“But you can…”

“What?”

The Duke tapped the bars, his voice dark. “You can control it. You can help us unlock its power.”

“Why would I do that?”

The Duke and his companion exchanged a look. “It’s quite simple dear boy…you agree to help us, or we can hurt her.”

They didn’t have to specify who they were talking about.

Død reared, a surged of fury running through them both. “If you touch her, I will kill you…” Hans snarled, his voice almost feral.

His captor merely chuckled. “Well now…you are quite passionate in defending your whore, aren’t you Prince Hans.”

“YOU DON’T TOUCH HER!!” Hans roared, Død’s voice bleeding into his own. His hand curled, itching to grab that sword that was just out of reach…in that secret stone room…

A harsh laugh from his captor shook him from his rage. 

_No…we can’t…that’s exactly what they want._ Død was struggling to reel herself in all the same, her rage at Scara and Livet being in danger roiling through them.

Hans wanted nothing more than to burst through his chains, the Sword carving the air around him in a deadly arc. But he forced himself to go limp, to fall against his chains and let the fight drain from his body. It was alarmingly easy.

“I think we’ve given you enough to think on…” The Duke said, his voice as pleasant as if they had been discussing the weather. “Rest well, dear boy, it’s the last free sleep you’ll get for a long time…” He rose, nodding at his companion to deal with the lantern. 

The light faded. 

“And if you’re thinking about using your powers to kill everyone in this castle…just keep in mind…” The Duke paused and Hans could sense the smirk on his face. “We have her hidden here too…it would be a shame if you accidentally killed her while trying to escape…wouldn’t it?”

Hans sagged in his chains. “No…” he sobbed. “No…Scara!” He rattled his chains, shouting as loudly as he could muster. “Scara! We’re here! We will find you!”

***

The Duke and the Mercenary left the dungeon, Hans’ desperate cries fading behind them.

“The Prince is lucky that I am a patient man.” The Duke said as the dungeon door clanged shut behind them. “Or else he would have found himself gagging on an oil-soaked rag by now…”

“I’m sure he will come around.” The Mercenary assured him, as they climbed back into the palace proper. “In the meantime, we have other things to concern ourselves with…”

“ah yes…” The Duke rubbed his hands together. “We cant forget about them…tell me, my boy…What is your plan for the Arendelle sisters?”

The Mercenary shook his head. “I have none.” He turned to face the daylight streaming into the windows above them. “By the time everything is set in motion, they will destroy each other.”

***

_All was fire and ash._

_Elsa knew she was dreaming, for nothing around her made sense._

_The sky was a thick indigo-black, laced with thin white scars. A hazy-reddish hue clung to the horizon. Heat was everywhere, inescapable._

_The ground about her was strewn with ashes, littered with wooden debris of all shapes and sizes._

_This scene was familiar, eerily so…_

The Battle of the Seasons? No…not quite. 

_It wasn’t Arendelle. She’d seen this before…perhaps in her Mirror?_

_Elsa turned and found herself before a familiar face._

_“Sister.”_

_And suddenly, she knew what this was. Where this was. When this was._

_Her heart plummeted._

_Død was panting, her Sword held loose in her grip._

_“All of you…betraying me…even you…” She turned to Elsa, her eyes swimming in unshed tears. “Isen…you betrayed me!”_

_“Never.” Elsa found herself saying. “Can’t you see what has happened? This is wrong, Sister.” She held out her hand. “Come home…”_

_“I can never come home again!” Autumn cried, her tears tracing dusty tracks down her face. “Don’t you see? I have doomed us all! I let Him in!”_

_She lunged forward, Sword raised to strike. Elsa didn’t move._

_Død’s blade stopped against an icy shield._

Theo?

_But it wasn’t Theo._

_Branna’s form burned with heat, but her eyes steamed with tears. “Stop this madness…please.” She pushed the sword back, sending Død stumbling. “We can fight this Død…together. It is not too late…”_

_Their sister shook her head. “None of you realize it…Only They can reverse this…and They are gone…” She tossed the Sword aside. It burst through the layer of ash underfoot, vanishing instantly. “It’s over sisters…They are lost. They cannot return. And we are doomed.”_

_A tremble went through the land around them. Through the shaking, Elsa swore she heard words echoing within. A simple phrase, clanging like a bell._

Reise Mellom Verdener

_A raven flew past them, followed closely by another, then another, until an endless flock of black was cascading through their battle, crying out in terror._

_Elsa felt a hot hand slide into her own and she squeezed back reflexively._

_Død fell to her knees. “I’ve doomed us all.”_

_The ashes fell thicker, blotting out everything._

Reise Mellom Verdener

_Elsa could feel herself slipping through them and clung to Branna all the tighter. But her love’s hand disintegrated like sand in her tight grip._

_She slid into a comforting brightness; into a light that was all at once cool and soothing. Above her, the ashes continued to drift downwards._

_Elsa turned and found that Theo was there with her. She stood alone amid the ashes, watching them fall with a devastated awe._

Theo?

_The Guardian had no reaction to her words._

Theo, where are we?

_“What are you showing me?”_

_The question did not appear to be directed at Elsa._

_A hazy form appeared beside Theo, shifting and ephemeral. Floating before it was some kind of enormous glass orb. It was so black that Elsa could see nothing within. It reflected and revealed nothing._

_“Garret! What does this mean? Tell me!”_

_A great multitude of forms joined the first, circling away in a tight spiral, each slightly different than the others. Each held a large glass ball._

_“We all missed this! It’s our fault!” Came Garret’s voice. His words echoed all around them, filling the void. “Be the light!! Be the light!”_

_The balls all slipped as the smoky forms vanished. They shattered into a million tiny shards upon the cloudy floor._

_Theo ran towards the disappearing forms. “Garret!”_

_Elsa reached for Theo, but found her feet sliding through the clouds, following the fragments of the orbs as they rained down. She slipped away from the Guardian before she could reach her._

_She was falling, falling further and faster than she’d known possible, that comforting light above growing dimmer and dimmer…_

_Her form crashed through the still surface of the lake, ripples flying in every direction. Elsa sank beneath the surface, her body rigid, her lungs empty. Her eyes remained open.  
A silvery sheen ran across the water above her, a shadow looming towards it and climbing until it blotted out the moon. Everything fell into darkness. The ashes rained from the skies, coating everything, burying the entire realm. Her ice crawled across the surface above her, locking her inside._

**Reise Mellom Verdener**

_It was the end. The end of all things._

***

You have so much left…you would really give it away like this?”

“For them…yes. I would trade away that which I value most.” 

But so much of it?

“I don’t care about the amount. Take it. Let me do this…”

That which you once had in abundance becomes all the more precious when it is scarce…

“Every bit I give up becomes invaluable for all it buys for them.”

…Will they forgive you for your sacrifice?

“I don’t deserve forgiveness.”

Very well then…

***

**_Kingdom of Arendelle, Mid-Summer’s Night, 1821_ **

Elsa awoke to a sharp cry, her dream fading into the depths of her mind. The warmth at her side was gone.

Theo sat up next to her, one hand over her mouth, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“Theo! What? What is it?” She shifted closer, her nude form sensitive to every touch. The ice curtains were fluttering in an unfelt breeze but offered no view of the world around them.

Theo’s warm shoulder was shaking under her hand. She was tense and silent, stifling even her sobs.

“Theo…” Elsa stroked her bare shoulder gently. “talk to me.”

The woman took a deep breath, a soft, strangled gasp escaping her. “Garret keeps calling out to me…” She whispered. “…trying to tell me something…” She moved to get up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. “But it keeps slipping away. He cant reach me…I cant…remember…”

Elsa moved with her, pulling herself as close as she could, molding her cooler body to Theo’s. She felt the other woman’s turmoil as if it was her own. “There’s nothing we can do about it right now.” She soothed, gently pulling her back into the safety of the sheets. “In the morning, we’re leaving to visit Hans and Scara. We can go see the trolls as well.” She played with Theo’s long hair, finding herself starting to hum softly. 

Theo was still panting, her skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat, her muscles taut. But slowly, she was relaxing as Elsa calmed her. “Elsa…” Theo fell against her, breathing heavily into her lover’s pale neck. “…Stay with me?” She asked, even though she was the one in Elsa’s bed.

Elsa pulled her closer, settling Theo’s head in its new customary position against her shoulder. “Of course.”

They held each other close all night, skin upon skin and breath mingling in their shared solitude before they would need to pull back their curtains and face the world and whatever new horrors awaited them.


End file.
